


Hometown Glory

by liamthebastard



Series: Hometown Glory Expanded Universe [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Build, endgame iwaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I ain't lost, just wandering.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Go Back (To the River)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is a full fic now. I deleted Hometown Glory (the Iwaoi day oneshot) because it will be used as a chapter in this fic. Welcome to the expanded universe kids, it's gonna be fun.

Packing was so weird. Watching an entire life be condensed into a half dozen boxes and a few backpacks was… disconcerting. Finding all the detritus of eighteen years lived in the same room was just as strange. Hajime found everything from bottle caps dating back a decade to plush toys Oikawa had foisted on him after festivals. The bottle caps got tossed in the trash, and Hajime nearly threw the plush along with them, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Instead, he tossed them all in a box, and shoved the box into his now-empty closet for storage. Maybe he’d donate them. Or give them all to Takeru for his birthday, the kid would hate them but it’d be hilarious. He’d get him something else, of course, not something volleyball related, because that was Oikawa’s job, but something Takeru would enjoy. A new videogame, probably.

And he was just trying to distract himself. He needed to finish packing. All that was left to pack up was his desk. Hajime crouched down to start with the lowest, least-used drawers. He pulled photo after photo out; picture strips Oikawa had forced them into taking around town, snapshots from day trips to the beach where Hajime is brown and freckled while Oikawa is a brilliant, sunburned, scarlet, and the odd picture from before he met Oikawa, where the space beside him seems yawning in its vastness. He sorted them all chronologically, and slid them into a folder to put alongside the plush toys. No need to bring pictures of Oikawa into a house that would _have_ an Oikawa in it _all the fucking time_. He still wanted to keep them, though. Just in case. 

As he finished packing the last of his desk up into a single, medium-sized box, he heard the front door open and fall shut as his mother called a greeting into the house. Hajime responded instinctively, and unfolded himself from his crouched position. He popped his back as he stood and hurried downstairs to greet his mother properly.

“Okaa-san, how was the doctor’s? What did she say?” Hajime fussed over her, taking her light jacket and hanging it up before grabbing her a chair and helping her sit. She’d been feeling poorly for a long while now, and finally Hajime had convinced her to see a doctor about it. 

His mother sighed and frowned. “Sit down, Hajime,” she said. 

Hajime sat down, dread creeping across the back of his neck. She began to talk, and Hajime began to cry.

*

“I’m not going,” Iwaizumi said simply. 

Oikawa popped up from behind the perilously tall pile of boxes he was labeling. “What do you mean _I’m not going_?” he replied. “Of course you are, we’ve already got a place, and you’ve enrolled in all your classes!”

Iwazumi shrugged. “Find a new roommate, I’m not going to school right now,” Iwazumi said brusquely. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Oikawa said. He put down the tape roller and crossed the room in two steps to stand in front of Iwaizumi. “Why?” 

Gods, Oikawa was annoying. He was like a four-year-old, constantly demanding to know the _why why why_ of anything he didn’t understand. It wasn’t often anymore that Oikawa missed something, so Iwaizumi rarely had to deal with the barrage of questions, but it was still obnoxious as all hell. Especially right now, when he didn’t want to deal with the whys, only with the hows. 

“I already took care of all the paperwork, I paid my share of the rent for a few months, so you have time to get someone else to live with. I just can’t leave town right now,” Iwaizumi explained. He’d spent the past three days in survival mode, just going down the list of everything that needed to be done. His phone had gone off no less than eighty-three times with messages and phone calls from his best friend, but he’d only just now had a spare moment to go over and talk to him about what had to happen. 

Oikawa pulled a face. “Okay, nice explanation, let’s try again. _Why_ are you, one week before we are set to leave for school, dropping this on me? What happened, Iwa-chan?” he asked. It just pissed Iwaizumi off all the more. 

He couldn’t do this, not right now, not in this over-nice house with the picture-perfect family, not with the golden boy former captain with his whole future in front of him. Not when Iwaizumi just had every part of his life plan scattered like ice chips around his feet with him struggling to keep from slipping as he tried desperately to move forward. 

“Mom’s sick,” he choked out. “I need to stay here to take care of her.”

And there, right there, was the face he didn’t want to see. Blind terror painted across Oikawa’s face, pure concern for Iwaizumi-san without any of the resentment or disgust Iwaizumi could feel coloring his own worry and fear. Oikawa was so primary in his feelings, if he hated something, he hated it, but when he loved someone, he loved them with no reservations. 

With stilted words and prompting from Oikawa, Iwaizumi explained what had happened. His mother’s pack a day habit, the only thing she’d kept when his father had left them, had finally caught up with her. Stage three COPD. She likely had a few years left, if she kept her activity low and took care of herself. But that ruled out Hajime going to college, especially the school in Tokyo that while not the same as Oikawa’s, was at least close enough to it that they’d planned to live together.

 

“Okay, we can handle this. If we both change to part-time students we can work alternate shifts so we can take care of her. It’ll be okay, Iwa-chan, we can do this,” Oikawa said. Iwaizumi could see him rattling through possibilities, but he just wasn’t thinking about reality. Oikawa had always lived too much in potential, not enough in the real world. 

“You’re not doing that,” Iwaizumi snapped, getting more irritated. Who the hell did Oikawa think he was? Sticking his nose into Iwaizumi’s family, like Iwaizumi wasn’t good enough to take of her himself? Fuck him. Fuck this. 

Oikawa scoffed. “Like hell I’m not doing it. Why shouldn’t I?” Oikawa demanded, looking down his nose at Iwaizumi in that self-righteous way he had. 

Iwaizumi snapped. “Because she’s _my_ mother, not yours!” he shouted, too loud too fast but feeling too much to stop himself. Oikawa was silent, mouth slightly open in shock, but Iwaizumi kept going. “Just because your family’s perfect doesn’t mean you need to swoop in and fix mine. I did just fine before you started nosing around, and I’ll do _just fine_ after you leave. So take whatever hero complex delusion you’ve got in your head about us, and shove it up your ass!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him as he rushed down the stairs and out the front door.

His feet slammed a staccato beat against the pavement as he ran the block home. As he ran inside and upstairs to his room, he realized the beat wasn’t the sound of feet, but of his heart, pounding out a jagged and broken rhythm against his ribcage. He threw himself onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and screamed. Just for a moment, just one selfish moment where he let himself release every bit of resentment and frustration at his situation, one second where he could be furious and raging. But once he started, he couldn’t stop. He screamed, and screamed, and let tears of anger soak his pillow as he tried to pummel it into submission when screaming didn’t make him feel any better. His anger just kept boiling up, and he couldn’t control it, couldn’t smother it or vent it. It just kept coming.

He wasn’t sure if it would ever stop.


	2. Turn All My Right to Wrong

It was rare that Tooru was left completely without words. But Iwaizumi had done it. _She’s my mother not yours_ he’d said. And then he’d left, leaving Tooru to crumple helplessly to his knees on the floor of his packed up bedroom. Surrounded by the boxes that held his entire life, he let Iwaizumi’s words sink in. 

Iwa-chan didn’t want his help. He didn’t want Tooru to stand by him through this. He didn’t think Tooru was as much a part of the Iwaizumi family as Tooru had thought he was. Iwaizumi had been so close to him for so long, Tooru had sort of adopted him into the Oikawa clan. Iwaizumi had been to every birthday party Takeru had ever had, he was as much an uncle to Takeru as Tooru was. Tooru’s mother always made agedashi tofu on alternate Friday nights because that was the night Iwa-chan would be sleeping over. Iwa-chan was a part of his life, irrevocably and completely built into every part of who Tooru was at his core. 

Tooru couldn’t wrap his head around it. Iwa-chan didn’t value him. After all the years of Iwaizumi constantly building him up and trying to convince him he was great, Iwaizumi hadn’t actually believed it. He’d just been waiting for a reason, for Tooru to finally go too far, so he could toss him away. Who’d have thought that after every selfish act Tooru had committed, it would be the first selfless one that would drive Iwaizumi away. Tooru sat quietly on the floor as the room grew dark around him. He sat up through the night, staring blankly ahead. His muscles were cramping, and he was thirsty, and hungry, but he couldn’t seem to summon the will to move. Instead, he read and reread his own handwriting on the outside of the box directly in his line of sight. 

_Books_ , it read. He focused again. _Books_ , it still said. Tooru let his mind wander, let his brain dissolve into white noise. He didn’t sleep, not really, because he was aware of each passing moment. He watched the room turn from the dark blue-black of late night to the soft grey of predawn, and finally the shining gold of full sunrise. As the sun came up, Tooru found his anger. The white noise and self-loathing gave way to the blaring silence that comes before a storm. 

He leapt up, grabbed his phone, and ran across the hall to the bathroom. The water was scalding hot, but Tooru hardly noticed the angry flush that rose across his skin as the water hit it. Instead, he reveled in the heat and steam, and scrubbed at his face and hair. When he finished with his conditioner he rinsed quickly and hopped out of shower. He brushed his teeth, and blow dried his hair. Next he styled his hair, and threw on some concealer and powder to conceal the evidence of his sleepless night. 

The mirror had finally cleared up from his shower. His reflection stared back at him, face smiling saccharine sweet and eyes burning like a wildfire. 

It was time to scorch some earth.

*

His mother cried when they dropped him off at his new apartment, but Tooru’s eyes were dry. Takeru snorted, and blatantly refused to hug him goodbye when Tooru’s sister tried to make him. Tooru just laughed and ruffled his hair, proclaiming that Takeru would miss him once he was gone. After helping him get the last of his furniture into the apartment -courtesy of his father’s friend’s work truck- his family finally left for the long drive back home. 

He then spent the day unpacking all of his boxes into his new room and arranging his furniture into something he’d consider livable. The apartment looked a little sad with only one person’s things filling it, but Oikawa made it work. He’d find a roommate soon. Maybe someone interesting, maybe someone boring. But he’d find _someone_ and that was the important part. 

After his fight with Iwaizumi, Oikawa had completely changed what he’d packed. Instead of the things he’d kept up in his childhood bedroom -alien posters, plush toys, photographs of the volleyball club, photographs of him and Iwaizumi- he’d brought only a calendar for the next year, a photo of his family for the living room, and a string of fairy lights he’d purchased on impulse that went around the window in his bedroom. As he finished unpacking the last of his books, he felt his phone go off. 

“Makki!” he chirped into the receiver. “So you got my email?”

Hanamaki sighed. “Yeah, what’s with the cloak and dagger? Isn’t changing your number before moving out a little extreme?” Hanamaki asked. “Surely your parents aren’t that overbearing.”

Oikawa scoffed. “Oh no, they have the new one. I just needed a fresh start, no fan club girls have this number you know,” he cooed. “So make sure to keep this one a secret, Makki! No letting it slip to _anyone_.”

“Yeah, yeah, you give out a guy’s number _one time_ ,” Makki groaned.

“Yes! One time, that led to ninety-eight phone calls in a twenty-four hour period!” Oikawa whined. Hanamaki just laughed, and refused to apologize. “Oh shut up. Just don’t go giving it out! To anyone!” 

Finally, Hanamaki agreed, and the conversation turned to how moving had gone, if Oikawa liked his new place, when their classes started, if they were continuing volleyball in university. Hanamaki kindly didn’t ask why Oikawa had decided to move a full week before he and Iwaizumi had scheduled. 

“I just don’t think I can,” Hanamaki admitted. “University is gonna be hard, especially with my degree. I’m not gonna have time to dedicate myself to it like I should. And I’m only telling you this because it’s so late there’s no way you could come all the way from Tokyo to kick my ass.”

Oikawa gave a real laugh this time. “I understand,” he said, “Not all of us are cut out for an illustrious career in the public eye.” Hanamaki squawked in indignation, and Oikawa laughed again. “You know it’s true, Makki, the public loves me.”

“Gods only know why,” Hanamaki sighed. “Alright, dude, I’m going to bed. But call me later, okay? I wanna hear all about what you’re up to in the big city.” Oikawa promised to call, and let the phone screen go dark after the call ended. 

The apartment was so quiet now that he wasn’t talking. It was starting to get to him, so he grabbed some cold medicine from his backpack and knocked them back with a bottle of water. He settled into his bed to wait for the medicine to take effect. It slowly took effect, and soon Oikawa let sleep drag him down. 

*

By the time the month was up, Oikawa had acquired a new roommate. Kuroo was… something. Loud, at first, but once he got used to Oikawa he became more comfortable with being quiet. Of course, whenever that spiker came over, they invariably got a noise complaint, but by the third month, Oikawa had acquired the number of a certain setter that could shut the noisy owl up faster than he could blink. By the fourth month, he and Kuroo set up a… mutually beneficial partnership. 

Kuroo was good-looking, smart, and passionate about volleyball. But he never tried to tell Oikawa how to take care of himself or how to play. He just hit what he was set, and sometimes asked for a little higher or a little faster. In the bedroom he was considerate and sweet - sometimes a little too much so. But it was enough that they both enjoyed themselves. It was never something serious, or even a real relationship, but it was a way to pass the time and have a bit of fun. 

Oikawa’s phone rang less now, and it was hard to get used to at first, but he slowly adjusted to no longer being the rising star of a small-town high school. Because that was all he’d been. But now, in Tokyo he had the chance to be more. 

The only thing that never stopped was the emails. Just about every day, Oikawa would check his old email account and find something new from _~Iwa-chan~~ <3<3_ with no subject line because he’d never bothered to spend time filling that part out. Oikawa couldn’t bring himself to delete the emails, but he resolutely refused to read them. He simply moved them to another folder, and kept them out of his mind as much as possible.

Around month six, it got harder to ignore. 

“Yo, Oikawa,” Kuroo said, walking into Oikawa’s room, shirtless with a towel around his neck. “Mail call.” He tossed a postcard over to Oikawa, who was sprawled on his bed, glasses perched on his nose as he studied. 

“Rude!” Oikawa squeaked, but he grabbed the postcard anyway. “Put on a damn shirt if you’re going to get the mail, you pervert!”

Kuroo snorted. “Pot, kettle,” he replied. “Besides, this body is a gift and I intend to share it with the world.”

Oikawa sat up in the bed and glared over his shoulder. “Just yesterday you cried because you couldn’t get your hair to lie flat. No part of you is a gift.” Kuroo pretended to look hurt for about a second and then walked out of the room laughing and rubbing the towel over his ridiculous hair. 

The postcard was a simple one, of Sendai City, but the message on the back punched the breath out of him. He glanced at the return address and that alone made his heart pound with anger. 

He refused to even read the damn postcard; he just tossed into the bottom drawer of his desk and threw on some fresh clothes. “Kuroo, let’s go,” Oikawa said, stomping through the living room. 

Kuroo perked up from the couch. “Where are we going?” he asked, tossing a coat on. At least he’d gotten a shirt in the time Oikawa had been getting ready. Oikawa turned, and whatever expression he had on his face must have been frightening, because even Kuroo balked a bit at it. 

His phone buzzed away in his pocket, signalling a new email, and Oikawa took great joy in turning it to silent. “Anywhere,” Oikawa finally answered, letting a smirk spread over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wtf is kuroo doing here  
> nobody outside of the aoba jousai third years were supposed to be here  
> why is he here


	3. (All the Things) I Thought I Wanted to Be

It was practically New Year’s. Kuroo had already said he was going home for the holidays, since home was so close for him, but Oikawa had ignored the invitation clear in his words, and opted instead to stay in the apartment. For all the fanfare his family had given him when he moved out, they were never really that close. He loved them, of course, but they weren’t the sort of people to get together for holidays or events once you became an adult. Takeru had pouted for a bit when he found out Uncle Oikawa wouldn’t be coming back for the holidays, but he soon got over it when his mother promised they’d take a trip into the city soon to visit. She understood, without Oikawa having to say, that he didn’t want to come back to Miyagi. 

So Oikawa rang in the new year alone in the gym of his university, running his serves over and over and over until he felt like he was made of jelly, and then he ran them a few more times. At five to midnight his phone had dinged, signalling a new email, but Oikawa ignored it, and gave a running start for a fresh serve. As he jumped, he felt something in his right leg _snap_ in a sickeningly familiar way. Pain followed almost immediately, and Oikawa crashed to the ground, the whole world wavering and going gray around the edges from the pain. With one hand he managed to reach out and fumble for his phone. His fingers shook and his eyes were watering so badly he could barely read his screen, but he still managed to dial the one person who could help him. 

“So help me, Oikawa, this had better be good.” Kuroo’s voice gave Oikawa something to focus on, something that wasn’t the searing pain in his knee. He still couldn’t speak, but he managed to force out a whimper that made it clear something was wrong. “Shit, are you okay?” Kuroo asked, his voice losing it’s grumpy tone and shifting into the worried captain mode Oikawa sometimes saw during practice. 

Oikawa hissed a breath in. “No, I’m not,” he managed before letting the air rush out of him on a groan. 

Kuroo made an audible sound of sympathy. “Where are you?” he asked. There was rustling in the background, the sound of other people asking what Kuroo was doing and Kuroo mumbling excuses before a door shut and it was quiet. 

“The gym,” Oikawa responded. He moved his leg experimentally to see if he could maybe move, but the resultant wave of pain threatened to drown him. “Hurry,” he gasped, and then the pain took him under.

*

Kuroo later insisted that he’d heroically carried Oikawa the whole way to the hospital, but the nurse had explained he’d just called an ambulance and waited with an unconscious Oikawa until the paramedics arrived. He’d then forced his way into the ambulance, much to the paramedic’s annoyance, and stuck to Oikawa’s side like glue for the remainder of the night. 

After hours of testing and questions and even more testing and still more questions, Oikawa’s doctor entered the room with a grim face. Kuroo took one look at him and left the room, allowing Oikawa some last little bit of dignity. He was already strung out on painkillers, and clearly the doctor had nothing good to say.

Before the doctor could even start, Oikawa held up his hand. “I know,” he said. “It’s shot, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. When Oikawa had injured his knee the first time, he’d known there was a chance of it happening again. He’d also known that if it _did_ happen again, the odds of him ever playing volleyball recreationally, let alone competitively, were slim to none. 

Of course, the doctor wouldn’t let it sit at just a confirmation of Oikawa’s words. Instead there was a lengthy discussion of ACLs and MCLs and overworking and tears and worn cartilage. What it all summed up to, however, was that Oikawa was never going to play again. He’d be lucky to be able to run again, let alone jump and spring and throw himself around the court. 

Blame it on the exhaustion, or the painkillers, or the shitty year Oikawa had just left behind him only to find that this next year would only prove worse, but Oikawa began to cry. The doctor attempted to comfort him for a few moments, but Oikawa wanted to be alone and told him so in no uncertain words. He left, looking a little offended at Oikawa’s colorful language. 

Kuroo didn’t try to come in, thankfully. It left Oikawa free to sob without reservations. Once Kuroo came back in to take him home, Oikawa would have to be his usual self. But for just a moment, he could be selfish and angry. He could let out his pain and fury for just a moment. As he sat there and cried, he swore that these would be the last tears he would shed that year. No more weakness. He couldn’t afford it, not now. 

*

By the time classes started back up, Oikawa had switched his major from sports sciences to journalism. If he couldn’t play the sport, he could damn well get as close to it as possible. He fell in love with the subject, in a way. Not the obsessive, damaging love he’d felt for volleyball, but it still intrigued and challenged him. Instead of making him push his body, it pushed his mind, forced him to think of things in new and interesting ways. Whenever he tried to put it into words, Kuroo just laughed and called him a nerd. 

He and Kuroo were good. Kuroo wasn’t exactly right for him, and he wasn’t right for Kuroo, but god it was a good way to burn off the frustration and stress of school and physio and practice. And they got along well enough outside of the bedroom. Kuroo was a good guy, the kind of person and player Oikawa could respect. Even if his hair was ridiculous. 

They were sprawled next to each other one day - Oikawa’s bed this time- clothes scattered around and sheets tangled at their feet, when Kuroo brought up a new topic. “So, Kenma picked a university,” he said. Oikawa hummed, stretching his left leg out and twisting to massage his right leg like his physiotherapist taught him to. “He picked mine.”

Oikawa chuckled. “What a sweet friendship,” he cooed. “He’ll move in here, I assume? Your room’s big enough to hold you both, I’m sure.”

“It’s just creepy how you do that,” Kuroo sighed, shaking his head. “But yeah, he’s moving in here, if you two get along.” He rolled onto his side to stare Oikawa down. “So no trying to scare him off, got it? Kenma’s sharp enough to give you a run for your money, you’ll get along if you give each other a shot.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to set us up, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa joked. “Tell me more, what’s Ken-chan look like? Is he tall and strong and handsome, or more of the wilting flower type?”

Kuroo looked genuinely perplexed. “Neither? Wait about an hour and you’ll find out, he’s gonna head over here once he finishes practice.” Kuroo shrugged. Oikawa squawked. 

 

“Gods, Kuroo, we can’t have someone over, the place is a mess!” Oikawa shrieked, flying out of bed and yanking on clothing at random. Kuroo just laughed at Oikawa’s distress, right up until Oikawa threw a shoe at his head and caught the idiot dead center. 

“All right, all right, I’m up and helping!” Kuroo protested. “You didn’t need to hit me.”

“Violence is the only language you speak, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa said frankly. “Now help me vacuum the living room.”

*

The moment Kenma entered the apartment, Oikawa knew what was going on. He played nice; Kuroo was right, the smaller setter was frighteningly observant, on par with Oikawa even. Without a word being spoken between the two, they seemed to agree that while they would never be the closest of friends, they could certainly live together easily enough. Everything after that was simply to appease Kuroo, who was ecstatic to see his best friend. 

Kuroo was a whole different person around Kenma. All of his best qualities seemed magnified by the smaller boy’s presence, to the point where Kuroo almost looked like a decent person. Of course, Oikawa knew better than to be fooled, but he could certainly see why the two were friends. After Kenma left, though, he had to sit Kuroo down.

“We can’t do this anymore,” Oikawa said, gesturing between them. Kuroo seemed bewildered. “Kenma. You’re ridiculously in love with him, and I’m not interested in getting in the way of that.”

“Whoa, no, he’s just- Kenma is- he’s- I mean-” Kuroo spluttered. Oikawa rolled his eyes. 

“This was fun, really, but we both know it wasn’t anything. We were what we each needed for a bit, but with Kenma living here, I don’t want to block your path,” Oikawa said frankly. He realized his words seemed a little harsh, so he tried to smile softly. “I really did enjoy it, Tetsurou. I needed it. But I don’t need it anymore.”

He stood up smoothly and retreated to his room. Best to give Kuroo a bit of time to process things. The boy would be fine, Oikawa knew. It was just the panic at having Oikawa see through him so quickly that was bothering him. To kill time, Oikawa picked up his phone and started texting Makki the usual complaints about classes and money and exhaustion. It sparked a competition of who had slept the least since midterms, which Oikawa won hands down due to never properly sleeping at the best of times. 

By the time Makki had to put the conversation on pause for a class, Kuroo was knocking at Oikawa’s bedroom door. Oikawa opened the door and leaned against the jamb. “Yes?” he asked, tilting his head back to look down his nose. 

“Was it that obvious?” Kuroo demanded. “With Kenma, I mean,” he amended.

Oikawa barked a laugh. “Only if you have eyes,” he said. “But has Kenma noticed? I don’t think so. You’ve been friends for so long…” He trailed off, his mind suddenly far away, on another pair of boys, one in love with the other for so long it had felt like his heart was a pincushion. “He probably just thinks that you’re very close friends. He hasn’t realized how much you love him, and he won’t unless you say something to him.”

“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” Kuroo said, his face serious for once. 

“You have no idea,” Oikawa answered somberly. Kuroo let the subject drop, and Oikawa closed himself up in his room for the night, pretending he couldn’t hear the ding of a new email landing in his inbox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to miyagi and iwaizumi next chapter.   
> kuroikawa just happened. looks like kuroo is in this fic to stay, god knows why.


	4. We Ain't Kids No More

It took a few days for Iwaizumi to calm down. It wasn’t just Oikawa, he knew that the boy was only trying to help, but something about his _I can fix this_ attitude had triggered an explosion of all of Iwaizumi’s frustration and anger at the situation and himself. That much anger didn’t just go away, and Iwaizumi had to take work to try and quell it. A week after their fight, Iwaizumi swallowed his pride and trudged over to the Oikawa household, head hanging low with shame, to apologize. 

He knocked, which alone was weird as hell. He hadn’t knocked on this door since he was maybe seven years old, and still had to ask if Tooru could come outside to play. Anymore, Oikawa would either be waiting by the door for him to arrive, or just tell him to come in the moment he got there. But he wanted to be respectful this time, show that he was really sorry for what he’d said. His knock echoed through the house and a few minutes later, Oikawa-san opened the door, still in a dressing gown. 

“Oh! Hajime-kun, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Oh, come in, come in, sorry, I was just getting ready for a dinner tonight, you’re lucky you caught me.”

Iwaizumi fidgeted in the doorway for a moment, but at Oikawa-san’s urging, followed her into the kitchen for some tea. He rarely saw either of Oikawa’s parents; Oikawa’s father worked in the city and often worked late, and Oikawa’s mother was a businesswoman and was usually out at meetings for the majority of the day, then networking events at night. 

“Is Tooru here?” Iwaizumi asked once he and Oikawa-san had sipped their tea in silence for a moment. “I kind of need to talk to him.”

Oikawa-san almost choked on her tea. She set the cup down carefully before speaking. “We dropped Tooru off at his apartment this morning, Hajime-kun,” she said gently, reaching over and placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

“He- He left early?” Iwaizumi asked. Oikawa-san nodded. 

“I don’t think he wanted anyone to know,” she elaborated. 

Iwaizumi’s mind was whirring, but he finished his tea quietly, thanked Oikawa-san for the chat, and left as quickly as was polite. He waited until Oikawa-san closed the front door and then took off running for his house. The second he arrived, he grabbed his phone and dialed Oikawa’s number. 

_We’re sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Goodbye._

He slammed down the phone. So not only had Oikawa left town early, without saying a damn word, but he’d also changed his number? What the hell? He scrolled through his limited contact list and immediately called Matsukawa. 

“‘Ello,” a sleepy voice mumbled after a few rings. 

“He’s gone,” Iwaizumi said succinctly. There could be no mistaking who he meant, since Makki was likely next to Matsukawa right now. “And he changed his number, because I said something stupid and we fought and now I can’t get a hold of him to apologize and I don’t know what to do,” he elaborated when Mattsun didn’t immediately say anything. 

There was the sound of static from the other end, and then a deep sigh. “Y-e-a-h, he um emailed us earlier today. Said he’d had to leave early, gave us his new number, but told us not to give it to anyone who didn’t already have it,” Mattsun said, sounding apologetic but firm. 

Iwaizumi sighed. “Does he really hate me that much?” he eventually asked. He could practically hear Matsukawa’s shrug.

“I dunno, but Makki’s gonna call him later, want me to relay a message?” he offered. 

“No, no, don’t let him know I called,” Iwaizumi said. “Just- I…” he trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say. 

Matsukawa waited, but when it became clear Iwaizumi wasn’t going to say anything else, he spoke. “Come out with me and Makki tonight, clear your head a bit,” Matsukawa said. “It’ll be fun.”

Iwaizumi scoffed. “It’s Friday, Makki will kill me if I infringe on your date night. Nah, I’ll be fine, maybe he’ll respond if I email him,” he added hopefully. Matsukawa very specifically didn’t respond to that, but said the offer to go out still stood, and ended the call. 

After the call, Iwaizumi very carefully sat down at his computer and started typing out an apology. It took him a few hours to really get it right, but finally it was as good as Iwaizumi was likely to get, and he sent it. He spent about an hour hitting refresh on his browser, hoping that Oikawa would reply, but nothing came in. Finally, it was so late that he _had_ to go to bed. He had a big day of job hunting ahead of him, and it wouldn’t do to be so tired and wound up he couldn’t function. 

*

A month later, Iwaizumi had acquired a full-time job at the convenience store a few blocks away. He and the owner got along well; Hayashi-sama was an older woman whose children had all moved away and left her to run the store on her own. She couldn’t lift as much as she used to, and had been thrilled when Iwaizumi applied. Best of all, she didn’t ask why he wasn’t going to school, or pry too much into his personal life, even when Iwaizumi came into work looking like he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. On those days, she’d send him to the back and have him stocking the majority of the day, and that would be the end of it. 

While Iwaizumi enjoyed his job, he knew the store wasn’t working to its best potential. Instead of catering to the crowds of teenagers and kids who constantly walked by, it focused instead on the businesspeople that rarely if ever came their way. Over the first few months, Iwaizumi carefully reformatted the store to appeal to the younger crowds, and business started to soar. By the time he’d been working there a year, Hayashi-sama promoted him to manager, and left him in charge of the store most days. 

But while his job got better, his mom got worse. She couldn’t use the stairs anymore, she was on oxygen constantly, and the doctors said it was only a matter of time before she contracted the pneumonia that would prove her end. Iwaizumi was doing his best to support her, but she was as stubborn as he was. She insisted he still see his friends, and he insisted on being with her whenever he wasn’t working, which lead to Hanamaki and Matsukawa spending quite a bit of time at Iwaizumi’s house. On one such evening, he, Makki, and Mattsun were all seated around the kitchen table, playing cards while Iwaizumi’s mother slept quietly in the downstairs room Iwaizumi had converted into her bedroom. 

They were a few hands in when Makki blurted out some news. “Oikawa’s got a boyfriend,” he burst out, like he’d been holding it in all night. 

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. He’d been emailing Oikawa every day for months, trying to apologize, but they’d all gone unanswered. He’d even been silly enough to send a postcard just the other day, hoping maybe Oikawa just hadn’t checked his email in a while. Matsukawa was glaring at Hanamaki. 

“Hiro, what the fuck, why’d you tell him that?” Matsukawa hissed. “C’mon, man, have some sympathy!”

Hanamaki raised his hands. “I thought he should know! Besides, Oikawa didn’t say _not_ to tell him!” he defended, then turned back to Iwaizumi. “He’s some middle blocker from Tokyo, the guy he got to be his roommate. Guess he used to be a volleyball captain at some school out there, Nekoma or something like that.”

Matsukawa smacked Hanamaki on the back of his head. “Hiro! He doesn’t need to hear this!” he insisted. 

“It’s fine, Mattsun. I’m happy for him,” Iwaizumi lied. “He should be having fun, going out. All of that.”

They both looked at Iwaizumi sadly, like they were thinking _you should be too_.

Iwaizumi called it an early night that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> background Matsuhana because i can


	5. (Maybe) We're Already Defeated

Honestly, New Year’s that year was awful. Iwaizumi’s mother had’nt gotten worse, but she hadn’t gotten any better either. Some part of Iwaizumi was honestly -and a little shamefully- surprised that she’d made it so far. He was glad she was still alive, but sometimes, looking at how his once always-on-her-feet mother, the one who had worked so hard his whole life to keep him in volleyball gear and clothes even though it was just her taking care of him, was now barely able to go from her bed to the bathroom without sitting down to calm her heart and even out her breathing. She was constantly on oxygen, couldn’t sleep through the night without waking up because her breathing was so weak, she was mostly confined to her bed with the occasional excursion outside for a cigarette. Iwaizumi had fought her for a bit on that, for obvious reasons, but honestly, she was already dying. At this point, Iwaizumi couldn’t see a point in denying her something that made her happy. 

Iwaizumi had worked the whole day, and by the time he got home, he had exactly enough energy to prepare dinner for himself and his mother, eat it, help her to bed, and go to bed himself. But once his head hit the pillow, he couldn’t turn his mind off. His body was so tired he couldn’t move, but his mind was so wound up he couldn’t sleep. All he could think was this was the first year he’d spent New Year’s alone, and the first in over a decade he’d spent without Oikawa at his side. They used to go the shrine together, every year, and Oikawa always insisted they wear yukatas so that they could start the new year right. This year, not only was he wearing sweats and a ratty old shirt that upon retrospect was probably Oikawa’s originally, but he was completely alone, with no annoying brunet next to him chirping about how this year would be _the best one yet, Iwa-chan, just you wait_. It felt… wrong. Oikawa should be with him, should be eagerly tugging him forward faster than Iwaizumi could reasonably walk in the long fabric of the yukata.

But Iwaizumi had driven him away. Now Oikawa was with someone, and Iwaizumi wasn’t sure why that mattered but it _did_. He shouldn’t keep bothering Oikawa when he clearly didn’t want to talk to him, but he couldn’t just give up on his best friend, not when they’d left things the way they had. He had to message him, now, before the year was over. 

He somehow managed to gather up the last vestiges of his energy, and used his phone to type out another email to Oikawa, even though he knew this one, just like the last heaven knew how many, would go completely unanswered. 

*

Iwaizumi woke up early in the morning, put on coffee, and started making breakfast. Soon, he heard the whir of the portable oxygen tank start up and his mother moving slowly in her room. Iwaizumi hustled into the room and offered his arm to help her to the table. Her body was still mostly the same, perhaps a little thinner than it had been, and her hair had gone mostly grey from stress. She’d never seemed fragile before, and even though she looked the same, Iwaizumi couldn’t shake the concept that if he gripped her forearm too tightly it’d collapse like spun sugar under his fingertips. 

She batted his hand away and sat down, tucking in to the breakfast Iwaizumi had made. Iwaizumi kept an eye on her as he ate, watching for any increased difficulty in her breathing or sign of discomfort on her face. Once she caught him looking, and pulled a face at his hovering. He washed up, went back into her room to kiss her goodbye on the cheek, and hurried to work. 

It was a strange day. The sky was overcast and gloomy, threatening snow but not actually following through. Few people came in that day, which left Iwaizumi with far too much time to think. His thoughts picked up right where they’d left off the night before; Oikawa Tooru. His best friend. For once, however, instead of focusing on how badly he’d messed things up between them, he found himself almost obsessing over Oikawa’s new boyfriend. 

According to Makki, they’d been seeing each other for maybe a month or two, and Oikawa seemed happy. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, even if he and Oikawa were still speaking, he had every right to be dating someone. But even in high school, Oikawa hadn’t really dated. He’d had a girlfriend, once, but it had ended disastrously. After that, they’d both been single. Iwaizumi wasn’t one for dating, not that he had any confessions, not with Oikawa Tooru stealing every heart in the school. 

But even on the rare occasion Iwaizumi had gotten a confession, he’d always said no. It made sense, looking back. Girlfriends took up time, and if Iwaizumi had gotten a girlfriend, who would make sure Oikawa was eating? Or that he actually went to bed at night instead of staying late at the gym and staying up even later watching match videos over and over until his eyes watered so badly he couldn’t wear his contacts the next morning? Who’s shoulder would Oikawa fall asleep on when it was late and they’d been watching X-Files reruns for four hours already? Who’s bed would Oikawa creep into during sleepovers because the futon had gotten too cold?

In fact, looking back, it was easy to see why Iwaizumi had never had a girlfriend. He’d been in love with Oikawa most of his life. 

Of course Iwaizumi would realize he loved his best friend of over a decade while he stood behind the counter of a convenience store, hundreds of kilometers away from the best friend. And of course he’d only realize it after he’d destroyed the friendship. He would realize it while Oikawa was with someone else, while Iwaizumi’s own life was falling apart at the seams, while they were so far apart physically and emotionally. Of course. Because nothing in Iwaizumi’s life had gone the way he wanted, so why would this? Why would the universe let him win, even if it was just once?

The bell above the door jingled, and Iwaizumi jerked out of his reverie to greet the new customers. 

“Okay, whatever you were thinking about, you need to never think about it again. He’s got wrinkles, Makki, look!” Matsukawa stated, pointing to Iwaizumi’s forehead, now creased in a scowl. 

“I think that’s just his thinking, face, Mattsun,” Hanamaki replied seriously. 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “What do you two want?” he asked, pushing his palms flat on the countertop and leaning over it to glare at them. 

“You haven’t come out in over a month. You’re going out with us tonight, no exceptions,” Matsukawa said. Iwaizumi started to protest, but Mattsun held up a hand. “Ah ah ah, Watari agreed to go and hang out with your mom, you know he’s her favorite.” That wasn’t quite true, but seeing as her actual favorite was likely to never speak to Iwaizumi again, he wasn’t going to argue the point. 

“Fine. Let’s go out,” Iwaizumi agreed. “Now leave. Come back after we close, so you don’t scare off all my customers.” Makki laughed, but Mattsun nodded and tugged his boyfriend out the door. Their visit had helped pull Iwaizumi out of his head, and he spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning between customers and restocking the few shelves that needed it. By the time the store closed, it was in prime condition, and Iwaizumi felt good locking it up. The job wasn’t much, but it was satisfying for him, maybe more satisfying than going to school would’ve been. He liked it, even on bad days, and yeah, it wasn’t glamorous, but it was a worthy use of his time. 

Makki and Mattsun met him at the corner outside the store, and together they walked to a local restaurant. Dinner that night was enjoyable, and Iwaizumi even managed to forget that he was essentially third-wheeling. It was obvious that Hanamaki and Matsukawa were in love, but it had always been like that, so Iwaizumi was used to be around it. It was a little trickier without Oikawa at his side to roll his eyes and make a snarky comment when the pair got a little too dopey-eyed. 

Of course, now they’d been together for nearly two years, so they weren’t quite so obnoxiously overt, but seeing the odd moments of intimacy was almost worse. Watching Makki automatically slide the soy sauce to Mattsun, or Mattsun slip the best parts of Makki’s favorite dishes onto his plate for him, or the way Mattsun watched Makki when he spoke, like everything he was saying was so important. It made Iwaizumi’s chest feel tight. 

But he wasn’t going to let it get him down. Instead, he let himself enjoy an evening out with his friends, even if they were insufferably adorable. 

At the end of the night, Iwaizumi went home. He thanked Watari for coming over, and Watari reminded him to just call next time he needed something, and to not make Mattsun have to do it. Iwaizumi laughed and sent him on his way, told him to text when he got home safe. 

Iwaizumi’s mother was smiling when he stepped into her room to wish her a good night. “It’s good to hear you laughing again, Hajime,” she said softly. “It’s been a long time.” Iwaizumi blushed, but his mother just chuckled and patted the bed next to her. He sat next to her, and let her draw him against her like she used to when he was younger. “Don’t look so embarrassed. I just worry about you, Hajime. If you don’t keep your friends close now, you won’t fare well after it all. Promise, you won’t be alone, after, okay?”

Iwaizumi nodded, even though the thought of _after_ made him feel like he was drowning. “I promise.”

*

After that, Iwaizumi made an effort to go out about once a week or so, work permitting. Different friends of his would hang out with his mother while he went out with everyone else. Usually they just grabbed dinner or caught a movie, but it was enough to help Iwaizumi not feel so lost. 

Between work, caring for his mother, and time with his friends, time began to fly. He still wrote Oikawa, nearly every day, but the emails were less apologetic now. Instead of just harping on how sorry he was, his emails now told stories about his day, everything that he wanted to tell Oikawa about his life but couldn’t because of time and space. There were still apologies mixed in, moments where Iwaizumi felt the distance between them so acutely that he couldn’t fully put it into words. But it was getting easier to live with his heart so heavy. He was functioning, and that was something to be proud of.

Some days, he’d even say he was happy. And that was a miracle in itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha sleep what is sleep


	6. Like You're on the Run

College rocketed by so fast Oikawa hardly had time to breathe. He kept living with Kuroo and Kenma, because it was so much easier to function with Kuroo there to make sure he and Kenma ate and slept regularly. But graduation was around the corner, and Oikawa had already gotten several of his articles published. Kuroo was well on-track to play volleyball professionally, along with Bokuto, while Kenma was neck deep in his game design degree, to the point where even Kuroo rarely saw him without at least two screens around him.

Their apartment was quiet with how busy they all were, but Oikawa was rarely there to stew in the silence. If he wasn’t in class or at his part-time job, he was watching every game he could. Volleyball games, football matches, swim meets, it didn’t matter; Oikawa watched them all. The editor of his university paper liked his work well enough, and asked him to write a few articles on the different teams through the university. Since he was already at the games, it wasn’t a leap. Soon he found himself perched on the edge of bleachers, glasses pushed up on his nose and a notepad clutched between his hands. He kept a camcorder next to him to film the whole match while he chose what he thought was the core of each team to focus on for his notes. Oikawa found himself focusing on the human sides of these players, making them more than just the statistics and rankings so often found in the sports magazines. He turned them into people; sometimes it was the strong defenseman, sometimes it was the supportive captain, but most often it was the fearsome ace, the axis around which every team spun.

Soon people beyond the university began to notice. With graduation drawing near, he’d received a few offers from sports magazines to become a regular writer. He picked a magazine, more or less at random, and the moment the diploma was in his hand he started working. Kuroo laughed at his quick turn-around, but didn’t put up much of a fight when Oikawa came home one day the summer after graduation and announced he’d found a new apartment closer to work.

“Sounds like you’ll finally get a room, Kenma,” Kuroo laughed, slinging an arm around Kenma, who was squatting at the table staring his laptop down and tweaking code at breakneck speeds. His face barely changed at Kuroo’s touch, but Oikawa made a comic face at their idiocy. Four years and they still hadn’t gotten their act together. It was exhausting.

Weeks passed in a blur, and soon it was Oikawa’s last night in the apartment. Kenma went to bed early, exhausted from a coding binge he’d gone on earlier in the week. He’d spent the majority of the evening curled against Oikawa’s side while Kuroo ran through panicked lists of everything Oikawa would need in his new place - something he’d been doing for over a week now. Kenma had mumbled a joke about Kuroo’s mother henning, but mostly spent the night dozing against Oikawa. He’d been up most of the week working on a new project, and was visibly exhausted.

“G’night,” he finally mumbled. “Visit,” he added, leveling a strong and strangely awake glare at Oikawa. “Not too much though.” And then he disappeared into his and Kuroo’s room for the night.

Later that night, Kuroo approached Oikawa to say his own goodbye to his roommate of four years. Oikawa was typing away on his laptop, reviewing his notes from a recent match he’d attended, but when Kuroo reached out and tapped his forearm, he glanced up. For once, Kuroo’s face was serious, not a trace of a smirk or laugh to be found. He sat down next to Oikawa in the space Kenma had vacated a few hours earlier.

“Whatever you’re running from, Tooru,” he began, but then stopped short when he saw Oikawa’s expression turn to stone. “Just visit. Don’t listen to Kenma, I want you to show up so much we get sick of your ugly mug.”

Oikawa barked a laugh and shoved Kuroo in the shoulder, perhaps a bit harder than he needed to, and Kuroo forced a chuckle. Soon he too went to bed, and Oikawa was left alone with his thoughts late into the night. He tied his article up around eleven, but he found himself unable to settle down long enough to even leave the living room, much less go to bed.

He pulled out his phone and shot a text to Hanamaki. He too was a night-owl, and they’d kept up a solid friendship via text over the past four years.

**Makki** : _wtf are u doing still up dont u have to move tmrw_

**Oikawa** _: So mean~~~ I just can’t sleep!_

**Makki** _: aka u wanna talk abt smthn. spill._

**Oikawa** _: can I call?_

**Makki** _: ya_

Oikawa placed the call the second Makki’s text came through. Makki picked up, but Oikawa didn’t give him an opportunity to talk. “Kuroo thinks I’m running away,” he spat out.

“And you’re worried he’s right,” Hanamaki filled in.

“A little bit,” Oikawa agreed. “I don’t think I’m running, I’m just… moving forward. Doing my best with a shitty situation. What do you think?”

Makki made a thoughtful noise. “I think you’ve been running for a long time. And we both know what from. But right now? You’re not running any more than you’ve been for the past few years,” he answered.

Oikawa pursed his lips. “I’m not running from him. It’s called a tactical retreat,” Oikawa protested.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Oikawa,” Makki said. “Or cowardly. But you are running. Gods know I can’t think of what from, but you’ve been running for awhile.”

The line went quiet while Oikawa processed the new information. “Okay,” he said, acknowledging that he’d heard what Makki had to say. They chatted back and forth for a little while longer, but after about half an hour, Oikawa could hear Matsukawa in the background calling for Makki to come to bed.

“Go, go,” Oikawa shooed. “Tell Mattsun I say hello! One of these days I’m going to get you two out here and we’ll actually see each other.”

“You could always come up here,” Makki pointed out, and Oikawa gave a strained laugh. “What? Everyone stops running eventually.”

“There’s no shame in walking away from a battle you can’t win,” Oikawa replied firmly, and Makki backed off.

“All right, all right, talk later then,” Makki said, and they ended their call.

Oikawa felt a little bit better having talked to Hanamaki, but still wasn’t able to convince himself to head into his room and lay down on the guest futon he had there. His real bed, along with everything else that made the room his, had been moved to his new apartment earlier in the week, and all Oikawa really wanted was to sleep in his own bed in a silent apartment. There’d been so much going on the whole week, and Oikawa was bone-deep tired. He glanced around the apartment he’d called home for four years, and felt… not nothing, per se, but not a whole lot. Some nostalgia, but in the end, this had only been a place he was staying. It’d had potential to become home, once, but that potential had ended before Oikawa had even moved in. Now it was just somewhere he’d lived for a while.

And now it was time to move on. Suddenly, Oikawa couldn’t stand to spend one more moment in his old apartment. The place was more Kuroo’s and Kenma’s anyway. It was time for Oikawa to leave. He packed up the last of his items into his backpack, taking extra care to be quiet so as not to wake Kenma, who always slept lightly.

Once he had everything, he slipped out of the apartment, locked the door behind him, and slid the key under the door. As he walked towards the train station, he smiled a little bit. There was something so satisfying in leaving a place of his own volition, and the satisfaction was tenfold when he left in the middle of the night with no one the wiser. It was a freeing feeling, if not a bit lonely.

Oikawa boarded the train, one of the last of the night. He didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man


	7. (But That Was) A Million Years Ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read end notes for (spoilery) potential triggers concerning minor character death

Iwaizumi was having one of his rare nights out. Kindaichi was in charge of staying with his mother that night. The kid was on break from his second year of college, and was near-ecstatic to do Iwaizumi a favor. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if he really wanted to leave, his mom had been doing worse and worse lately, but Matsukawa had taken the decision out of his hands and called Kindaichi himself and had him show up at Iwaizumi’s house. At that point, Kindaichi unceremoniously shooed him out of his own house with a promise to take care of Iwaizumi’s mother, and Iwaizumi pretty much had to go out with Makki and Mattsun. Even Kunimi, Yahaba, and Watari made it out to the bar, so instead of it being an awkward date plus Iwaizumi, it was a mini-reunion in which two of the group happened to be together. 

While Kunimi was at the bar using his freshly-legal ID to buy them all the next round, Iwaizumi’s hand twitched to his pocket, where his phone was tucked away. Part of him wanted to fire off an email to Oikawa, like he had every day since Oikawa left. But there was a limit on how long Iwaizumi was willing to chase him, and it seemed that four years was the limit. He couldn’t do it anymore. It was time to let Oikawa go.

Kunimi returned with a round of beer for everyone, and Iwaizumi happily took it. He tried to focus on the friends around him, instead of the one missing. It was a little tricky at first, but the more Iwaizumi drank the easier it became.

They stayed out until the bar signaled last call, far later than Iwaizumi had intended to stay out, but he’d gotten caught up in conversation with his former kouhai, and so he stumbled home a little after midnight, not truly drunk but not really sober either. Kindaichi was waiting up for him, and laughed quietly when he saw Iwaizumi’s state. 

“Okay, go sleep it off, man, take this with you,” he instructed, passing a bottle of water from the fridge over to Iwaizumi. “Drink it all before you go to bed. Now go,” Kindaichi urged. Iwaizumi chuckled a bit at how confident the turnip-head had gotten since starting college. Back in high school he couldn’t even _talk_ to Iwaizumi without stuttering, but now the kid was easily teasing him and bossing him around like it was second nature. 

He clapped a firm hand onto Kindaichi’s shoulder in thanks, and headed upstairs. After he finished most of the bottle, he refilled it with water and brushed his teeth, then retired to bed. Work started early the next morning, and he’d rather have a bit to work his way out of the hangover before needing to interact with customers. That night he fell asleep easily, lulled to sleep by the alcohol warming his blood and the soothing sound of the wind in the eaves. 

*

His alarm was blaring the next morning, but he managed to get up and shower with only minimal headache and nausea. He walked downstairs and aimed for his mother’s new room to wake her up so he could help her get dressed before he started on breakfast. 

She was still sleeping when Iwaizumi came in, which was odd, but Iwaizumi easily moved over to the bed and reached out his hand to gently shake her awake. 

“Okaa-san, time to get up, c’mon,” Iwaizumi mumbled, his voice rough with the early morning. She didn’t stir. He shook her shoulder a little harder. Still no response, not even a grumble or groan to indicate she wanted to sleep more. He pulled the blankets down a bit and reached his hand out to touch her face. 

She was cool. 

Iwaizumi’s heart rate picked up in panic, and he pulled the blanket down even further and fumbled to move her hair out of the way so he could feel for her pulse. 

Nothing. 

He pulled back her eyelids, hoping for something, _anything_ , but there was nothing there. No light, no darkness, just a blank slate of nothing where once there was a whole person. On autopilot, he pulled out his phone and called emergency services, then called the store to let Hayashi-sama know he wouldn’t be coming in that day. After that, the emergency services still hadn’t arrived. No rush for a D.O.A. he assumed. He pulled his phone out one more time, and called Matsukawa. 

Mattsun showed up a few minutes after the emergency technicians took away the body, and when he got there, Iwaizumi was still standing in the kitchen where the techs had left him not too long before. He felt frozen, hollow, completely shell-shocked and lost. Matsukawa was at his side immediately, tugging him out of the kitchen and out of the house entirely. 

Iwaizumi followed him automatically, matching his pace as Mattsun led him on a walk around the neighborhood. Neither of them spoke, Matsukawa likely didn’t know what to say, and words seemed far beyond Iwaizumi at this point. He couldn’t say anything just yet, not even a thank you for arriving so quickly with a nothing but a half-muttered explanation of what had happened to go by. 

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure how he managed to arrange the funeral, much less contact everyone and make sure he managed to get there. He was ninety percent sure that Matsukawa and Hanamaki did most of the work, while Iwaizumi himself floated around the house like a ghost, moving from room to room in search of someone that wasn’t there anymore. 

It wasn’t until three weeks after it all that he even managed to cry. He’d gotten up in the morning, ready to go to work and muscle through another day, when his half asleep mind decided to make enough breakfast for two. Halfway through scrambling the eggs, he realized his mistake, and stared at the pan in shock. The next thing he knew, he was half-collapsed on the ground, sobbing over a pan of burning eggs because not only could he not make fucking breakfast right, he didn’t have anyone to laugh over it with. He didn’t have someone to split the horribly burnt eggs, he had nobody to cook for, no one to take care of. There was nothing, nobody in the house but him. 

The silence was deafening, and Iwaizumi was drowning in it. 

*

Summer became fall and fall became winter, and Iwaizumi slowly learned how to function. He didn’t stop hurting, he didn’t think he ever would. But by the time it was New Year’s, he’d cleared out the master bedroom and filled it with his own things. He was working his way through the rest of the house, turning it from his mother’s house into his own. His childhood room was a guest room now, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki insisted on helping him redo the wallpaper all over the house. 

The pair of them were over a lot more now, even though they had a perfectly serviceable apartment of their own across town. Iwaizumi couldn’t say he minded the company. It helped make the place feel less lonesome. After the New Year, Hayashi-sama informed him that she was retiring, and passing the store on to him. She would own it in name until her death, but Iwaizumi would be entirely in charge of running it, balancing the books, and working payroll. He was authorized to hire whomever he needed to so he could insure he got some time off. To celebrate, he invited Makki and Mattsun over to his place and told them everything. 

Matsukawa spent a solid forty minutes teasing him for having his life all put together while he and Makki were just bumbling along, but Iwaizumi brushed it off as faint praise. Iwaizumi’s life was more together than Mattsun’s, sure, but that wasn’t saying much at all. He’d said as much, and earned a solid punch in the arm for his snark. 

While Makki was up grabbing drinks from the kitchen, Matsukawa leaned close. “You’ve been writing less lately,” he said cautiously. “Giving up on him?”

If they were going to do this, Iwaizumi was going to need another beer a lot faster than Makki was gonna be able to get it. “Not giving up, per se. I’m just… laying low. When he feels like talking to me, he’ll talk to me.” Mattsun looked skeptical. “There’s only so many ways I can apologize, Mattsun, sooner or later you run out of words.”

“I guess so,” Matsukawa said neutrally. “I’ve just never seen you give up on something before. It’s strange.”

“It’s not giving up, it’s a tactical retreat,” Iwaizumi protested just as Hanamaki came back with a few more beers in hand. 

Makki choked on a laugh, but when Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow in question, he refused to say anything about it. Just muttered something about “stupid minds” that Mattsun found hilarious, and Iwaizumi eventually gave up on ever understanding either of them. 

They left after a few hours, and once again the house was silent. Iwaizumi flicked on the radio in his room and took his sleeping pills before he settled into bed.

The silence was still deafening, but Iwaizumi was learning to fill the silence with life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi's mother dies in this chapter, and Hajime is the one to find her. It's pretty glossed over, but if this is in any way a trigger for you, all you need to know is as follows:
> 
> -Iwaizumi has stopped emailing Oikawa because he decided four years was long enough to wait. He's moving on.  
> -His mother has passed, and Iwaizumi was lost for a bit, Mattsun really helped him out.  
> -Time passes and by new year's Iwaizumi is owner in all but name of the convenience store he's been working at.  
> -His house is being slowly remodeled to become his home and not just his mother's. It's going well, even if the wallpaper looks atrocious.


	8. It's So Cold (In Your Wilderness)

Oikawa’s new apartment wasn’t huge, but gods it felt like it was. After four years of living with Kuroo, an apartment that only held Oikawa seemed cavernous. The furniture was sparse but comfortable, he hung up his posters in the main living area without having to fight over space, but it still felt hollow. He started putting in more and more time with work, volunteering for assignments that sent him all over Japan, and then all over the world. As he travelled he found himself still fascinated by the sports he was technically going to watch, but even more enchanted by just how _large_ the world was. 

Travelling became his escape; when there wasn’t much going on in the sports world, Oikawa asked to be sent on travel assignments for their sister magazine. His editor didn’t mind loaning him out, and he had a knack for capturing the general atmosphere of whatever area he was sent to.

He welcomed summer in the English countryside, working on an article about the preparations for Wimbledon, and enjoying testing his English out on unsuspecting locals. England was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and he fell in love with the idea that no one there knew him. He could be anyone he wanted to be, his name meant less there than it’d meant in college, and half the people there could barely pronounce it let alone care enough to look him up. 

One night, as Oikawa was getting the last of his notes together before he headed back to Tokyo, his phone rang. Makki’s face popped up on the caller ID, and Oikawa smiled as he answered the call.

“Makki! How are you? Isn’t it a little early for you to be up?” Oikawa asked. If it was ten thirty in England, it had to be about seven thirty the next morning Miyagi-time. 

“Oikawa. I- I’ve got some bad news,” Makki said. Oikawa reflexively sat on the edge of his hotel’s bed. “Iwaizumi-san, she uh, she passed away sometime last night.” Had he not been sitting already, he’d probably have fallen. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

Hanamaki sighed. “Yeah, Iwaizumi called us a few hours ago. He’s gonna arrange everything, he should let us know the rest later. I’m gonna go though, it sounds like Issei’s bringing him in right now.”

Oikawa was just silent, let the call end, and let the phone fall from his hand. It landed with a whump on the bed. 

She was gone. The woman he’d treated like a mother for most of his life, the woman who took care of him more often than his own mother, the woman who welcomed him into her home so often that he’d forgotten it wasn’t his. She was gone, forever. 

But did he even have a right to mourn her? He hadn’t been back in almost five years, hadn’t spoken to her in just as long, out of fear of any of it getting back to _him_. Oikawa hadn’t been there, she hadn’t heard from him in so long… he had no right to feel so sad. And as he knew, they weren’t _really_ family anymore. Maybe hadn’t been for a long time. 

So why did he feel so terrible?

*

He caught his flight back to Tokyo in a haze, and stumbled, jet-lagged, into his empty apartment. Instead of bothering to turn on lights, he aimed straight for his bedroom. Even though he’d left in the morning from the UK, it was now early evening in Tokyo. His mind was on autopilot as he started the bath and used the time the water took to heat up to unpack his suitcase. With a sigh of exhaustion he stripped off his airplane-reeking clothes and slid into the hot water. 

His breath hissed between his teeth as the steaming water came up to his chest, and it dissolved the tension out his body, leaving him with a whirring mind but a body made of jelly. He sighed again, soaking in the water. It took him a few minutes to gather the energy to scrub the scent of travel off of his skin, but he finally got himself clean. He spent a little bit longer soaking in the water, but eventually clambered out of the bath and dried himself. 

Oikawa stared at his reflection in the steamed up mirror for a moment. He looked like a ghost. He’d lost weight since he last really studied himself, and he had bags as large as his carry-on hanging under his eyes. With a scoff of annoyance at his pitiful state, he moved into his bedroom and pulled on his pajamas. As he settled into bed, his phone rang again. This time it was Matsukawa calling him. He hesitated for a moment, but finally accepted the call. 

“Hello,” he grumbled.

“Oikawa, sorry, Makki said you’d just be getting in from England, but I needed to give you all the info for the funeral.” Matsukawa started spouting off times and locations but Oikawa just let his voice fade into the background until he got loud, like he’d been repeating himself for a while. “Oikawa! I said, are you going to be able to make it?” 

Gods, what was the point? He could try to go to the funeral, inevitably get shut out by Iwaizumi, and return to Tokyo feeling worse than before, _or_ he could stay in Tokyo, feel awful, but not have to face Iwaizumi at all. The second option had the added bonus of not risking an encounter with his family. 

So, he did what he did best. Jumped to a decision, and told the painful truth. “I’m sorry, Mattsun, but I won’t be going. I really don’t think I belong there,” he said neutrally. And then he fell back on his second nature, and lied through his teeth. “Besides, I’m just swamped with work, and jet lagged like you wouldn’t believe, I really can’t spare the time to go out there.” 

He could practically hear Matsukawa’s annoyance and anger through the phone. Before Matsukawa could say anything else, Oikawa moved to finish the call. “I’m sorry, Mattsun, really,” and maybe his voice was just a little _too_ genuine there, “but I really can’t. We’ll talk soon, okay?” And he hung up before Matsukawa could get a word in edgewise. 

The blankets were soft and warm around Oikawa, and his bed felt more comfortable than ever, but he still laid awake for another few hours, jet lag making his limbs heavy, but guilt keeping his mind awake. When he finally did fall asleep, it was fitful and full of frantic not-quite-nightmares where he was running, running, running, but towards or away from what he couldn’t quite tell. 

*

Once he’d slept off the majority of his jetlag, Oikawa threw himself into his work. By the time the day of the funeral rolled around, he was back on assignment, this time up north in Akira, doing an interest piece on one of their basketball teams that was looking good for the next season. After that, he flew to France on a travel piece, and then South America. Over the next few years he spent more time in airport terminals and hotel lobbies than he did his designated office space, and far more time sleeping in hotel beds and uncomfortable coach seats than his own bed. He was doing alright, really. Kuroo and Kenma came by occasionally, when Oikawa was in town for more than three days at a time, and on one memorable night he’d even run into Tobio and the Shrimp at a local bar. They seemed happy, still too intense for Oikawa’s liking, but he could see they were content.

And so was he, most of the time. His life was a frantic whirlwind, he had no time to think beyond his next article, his next flight, his next train. And that was exactly the way he liked it. If he was concentrating on making it between gates so he didn’t miss a connecting flight, he didn’t have to think about how his apartment sat empty nine nights out of ten, if not more. He didn’t have to think about how he seemed to be the only one left who hadn’t found some measure of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus christ are these plotlines EVER going to converge


	9. (Everything Just) Takes Me Back

In the spring of Iwaizumi’s twenty-seventh year, he found himself with an unexpected house-guest. 

“I’m staying here this week,” Matsukawa announced, dropping a large suitcase on the ground in the kitchen. Iwaizumi glanced up from where he was sitting at the table, trying to enjoy his lunch. 

He studied Matsukawa for a moment; his shoulders were tensed like he’d just been in a fight, his face was haggard, and his eyes were furious. “Did you and Makki have a fight?” he asked, shocked. They’d argued a few times before, of course, but never something so big that Mattsun had needed to stay somewhere else. Hanamaki always said they tried not to go to bed angry, which meant sometimes Iwaizumi would see them exhausted and sleep-deprived, but he couldn’t really see either of them getting mad enough to have to sleep on the couch, let alone at someone else’s house.

“Yeah, but that’s not it. He’s-” Matsukawa huffed an aggravated breath. “He’s left to visit fucking Oikawa this morning, and wanted me to go, but I’m not gonna do that, so the apartment’s gonna be empty for a week.” 

Iwaizumi paused. He knew Hanamaki had kept up with Oikawa - and that unlike Iwaizumi, his efforts had actually garnered a response most of the time. Of course, Makki rarely relayed any information; snippets sometimes, like the time he’d let slip that Oikawa was seeing someone, or when they were watching a rebroadcast of a volleyball match and he commented that Oikawa had been there for an article. Iwaizumi, through Hanamaki, had a vague idea of what Oikawa was doing, and it sounded like he was happy. Which was good, because Iwaizumi was too. It was strange, thinking that he hadn’t seen his former best friend in almost a decade and was still okay. Back in high school they’d been attached at the hip, unable to go even a week without seeing each other. Now it’d been a decade, and Iwaizumi still missed him like he’d miss a limb. But just like a limb, he’d learned to compensate for it, learned to work around the ache that took up in his chest each time he had to restock the milk bread at the store. It was just like how he held back tears each time he ordered a new case of his mother’s favorite tea.

It probably wasn’t healthy to think of Oikawa as dead, because he wasn’t, he was out there happy and thriving, but to Iwaizumi he was as good as gone. He wasn’t ever going to see him again, that much had been made clear when Oikawa hadn’t shown up at his mother’s funeral. It hadn’t registered at the time, but looking back once the shock had worn off, Iwaizumi hadn’t been surprised. Matsukawa, on the other hand, had been personally offended, something about how Oikawa responded when Mattsun called him to tell him everything. It was like Matsukawa had taken on all the rage Iwaizumi couldn’t muster anymore, and kept it bottled up until something -in this case, Makki’s visit to Tokyo- triggered it. 

“Oi, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa said, waving a hand in front of Iwaizumi’s face. Iwaizumi snapped back into focus. “I swear to god, you keep doing that.” Matsukawa scoffed at Iwaizumi’s confused expression. “Everytime I mention that asshole, your eyes go all foggy and you zone out until one of us grabs your attention. It’s not healthy, man,” he said simply. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Iwaizumi replied. “Hey, get your own food,” he sniped, smacking Mattsun’s hands away from where they were trying to pilfer some of Iwaizumi’s food. 

“What’s yours is mine, Iwaizumi, surely you know that by now,” Matsukawa replied, snatching the food anyway. Iwaizumi gave up, and let him steal a few pieces of meat from his plate. “But seriously, Iwaizumi, you’ve got to let him go. He’s not here, he hasn’t been here for years. It’s time to move on.”

Iwaizumi sighed. He was hoping Matsukawa would just drop it, but clearly the man was determined to push the subject.

“Look, Mattsun, I know he’s gone. But I can’t just… He’s just gonna be one of those people, you know? I’m not holding on to him, but he still won’t leave,” Iwaizumi paused, and took a sip of his water. “If Hanamaki did this, if he just left you one day and didn’t say a damn word to you after, would you be able to forget him?” 

It was the first time Iwaizumi had even hinted to Matsukawa about his feelings for Oikawa, past or present, and instead of shock on Matsukawa’s face there was just acceptance. 

“Probably not,” Matsukawa admitted. “But I’d like to think that after a while, I’d be able to move on. When was the last time you went on a date?”

“I’m busy, I don’t have time to date,” Iwaizumi argued. 

“But you find time to go out with us, so you definitely have time to find someone. But you choose not to, and that’s fine, so long as it’s not because you’re waiting for him,” Matsukawa said. “He’s not coming back.”

Iwaizumi knew all of that. Nothing Matsukawa was saying was news to him. It still stung to hear it out loud though. “I’m not waiting for anyone,” he finally said. “But thanks. Never be this serious again, it’s weird as hell.”

Matsukawa laughed, and the tension between them broke. Iwaizumi smiled a little, and finished the remains of his lunch while Matsukawa took his suitcase up to the guest bedroom. 

“What’s weird as hell is me sleeping in your childhood bedroom,” Matsukawa called down. Iwaizumi chuckled.

“Consider yourself lucky that I’m not making you sleep on the couch,” Iwaizumi shouted back. Matsukawa made a squawking sound in response, but was quiet for a little while as Iwaizumi cleaned up the kitchen and got ready to go into work for the afternoon. 

“Matsukawa! I’m going to work, try not to burn the house down while I’m gone,” Iwaizumi shouted, yanking on his jacket against the last bit of spring chill still in the air. 

“I resent that!” Matsukawa shouted back.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and headed for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna warn you now this is as happy as the fic gets for a while. from here on out it's going down.


	10. (If I'm Gonna) Lose My Way

“Oikawa, asshole, open your damn door!” The sound of furious knocking pulled an exhausted Oikawa from his accidental nap on the couch. He’d stumbled home in the wee hours of the morning, coming in from weeks of bouncing between time zones and articles. Honestly, he’d made it to the couch and collapsed there, sleeping until, apparently, early evening, when Hanamaki arrived from Miyagi. 

“Yo! Captain Idiot, come let me in!” Makki hollered again, and Oikawa groaned. He dragged himself off of the couch and trudged to the door. 

“Gods, Makki, why are you always so _loud_?” Oikawa grumbled, letting the door swing open. 

Hanamaki laughed and pushed Oikawa out of the way to drag his suitcase inside along with himself. “You’re one to talk,” he snorted. “Go put on some tea or something, I refuse to spend my one week in Tokyo watching you nap.”

“Rude!” Oikawa replied. “Guest room’s down the hall on the right, go unpack your shit while I freshen up.” He set the kettle on to boil in the kitchen while he ran to the bathroom and fixed his hair. If Makki wanted a night out, he was gonna show him Tokyo in its best light. The kettle whistled and Oikawa sprinted to the kitchen and poured his tea. While it was steeping he ran back to the bathroom to touch up his concealer under his eyes. By the time his tea was ready to drink, Makki had wandered past the bathroom and stopped to heckle Oikawa. 

“Are you seriously still wearing makeup? Oikawa, you’re a grown ass man!” Makki teased. 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I do not understand how your masculinity is so fragile. I’m a grown ass man who happens to like a little makeup, and it certainly looks good on me,” Oikawa replied, grabbing a tube of lipgloss and slicking it on just to spite Makki. “Let’s go, there’s this weird little American bar I think you’ll like.”

* 

The bar was a quieter place that Oikawa favored. It was still a thousand times busier than anywhere in Miyagi though, and would be suitable to give Hanamaki a bit of culture shock. He was friendly with the bartender, an older, American woman who’d transplanted to Japan a few decades past in search of a fresh start. She kept up to date on the American pop culture, though, so the music was always foreign and exciting. The drinks were strange but usually pretty good, so Oikawa liked to drop by whenever he had free time. 

“Makki, c’mon, it’s not that bad. You’ll love it, promise,” Oikawa cajoled, trying to get Hanamaki to try a pink concoction the bartender had asked him to try. 

“I’m not drinking anything you recommend,” Hanamaki rejected, grabbing the beer the bartender had poured for him and sipping it instead. 

Oikawa took a sip of his own drink and beamed. “It’s delicious, you’re missing out,” he laughed, slinging his arm across Makki’s shoulders. Hanamaki shoved at his arm playfully but let it stay as they continued to drink late into the night. By the time last call rolled around, they were both properly drunk and in need of a cab. They took the cab home and stumbled up the three flights of stairs to Oikawa’s apartment. 

Makki was doubled over in laughter at Oikawa’s fumbling attempts to unlock the door and didn’t stop laughing until well after they were inside. Instead of going to bed, they flopped on the living room floor with a pizza Oikawa had ordered. 

“No, you gotta tell me, what’s going on in the world of Makki-i-i-i?” Oikawa demanded, drawing out the last syllable. “We never get to talk, you need to fill me in! Mattsun, how’s he doing?”

“Still hates you,” Makki said bluntly. “Gods, he nearly had _kittens_ when I told him I was coming to visit. I tried to get him to come too, but, y’know.”

“Hates my guts.” Oikawa laughed self-deprecatingly. “Don’t blame him, I was an ass.”

The other man crammed a huge bite of pizza into his mouth before he weighed in. “I just’ don’ ge’ it,” he mumbled through a mouthful. Oikawa pulled a disgusted face, and Makki swallowed before saying anything else. “Why’d you do that?”

Oikawa made an indistinct sound and rolled onto his back. “Eh you know Mattsun, if I’d been nice I’d never have gotten out of it,” Oikawa said. 

“No, not that, I _know_ why you’re an asshole now, I wanna know why _then_ ,” Makki whined, flopping onto his back alongside Oikawa. 

“I- I’m not sure anymore,” Oikawa replied, his voice gone pensieve. “It made sense at the time, but now…” He went quiet for a bit. “I’m used to running now,” he finally said. “I don’t know how to do anything else.” 

Makki was quiet too for a second. “Well that’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say.” Oikawa sat up so fast his head spun and he felt freshly drunk all over again. “Don’t gimme that _look_. You’re the one being dumb. But not any dumber than Iwaizumi. You’re both stupid,” Hanamaki proclaimed. Oikawa started giggling, less because it was funny and more because… well, just _because_. He had the week off to spend with one of his best friends, and it was just so _nice_. 

They stayed up late giggling, and eventually passed out layered over each other on the living room floor.

*

The whole week was exactly what Oikawa needed. They got up early, spent the day touring the city like a tourist would, and then stayed out late, touring the city like the seasoned resident Oikawa was. They usually took brief naps in the afternoon when their exhaustion caught up with them. It was great, spending time with his friend like this, and Makki rarely if ever brought up Miyagi, and even then only if it was necessary.

Having Makki around made Tokyo fresh again, and Oikawa was glad for it. He hadn’t seen Makki in a couple years, despite their efforts to have Makki come to Tokyo as often as possible. Between their two jobs, Oikawa’s near-permanent exhaustion, and the fact that Matsukawa hated Oikawa with a good amount of passion, it was difficult for Hanamaki and Oikawa to see each other very often. 

But sooner or later, they had to stop pretending it was spring break. Eventually, Makki’s job would need him back, and Oikawa would have to jet off on another adventure. To make the last night memorable, Oikawa had tried to make dinner. 

Emphasis on tried. 

“So, we’re ordering in, right?” Hanamaki asked, staring at a scorched pot of rice in a mixture of abject horror and amusement. 

Oikawa sighed. “Already did, it’s on its way,” he muttered. “Oh, shut up,” he protested when Hanamaki started to laugh. “Well excuse me for doing something nice.”

“Aww, no worries cap, you know I like you even if you can’t cook,” Makki teased. Oikawa rolled his eyes at the old nickname. Food arrived pretty quickly and they tucked in ravenously to their dinner. “See, much better than anything you could’ve made,” Makki pointed out. Oikawa tossed a few carrots at him. 

“Fuck you, I am _extremely_ talented in many areas. Cooking just isn’t necessarily one of them,” Oikawa responded. Makki chortled and they went back to their meal. 

When dinner was over, Makki was due to head out and catch one of the last trains to Sendai. Oikawa was determined that it was too late at night for Makki to be walking to the train station alone, and Makki was certain that Oikawa was too tired to even walk down the stairs, much less all the way to the station and back. 

“I’ll be fine, Oikawa, it’s not even ten yet,” Hanamaki argued. “I’m gonna go catch my train, and you’re gonna stay here and actually get some damn sleep for once, so that when I call you when I reach Sendai it’ll wake you up and you’ll be super angry, which will be deeply satisfying for me.” As he spoke, he was backing out of the living room and towards the door with his suitcase in hand. 

Oikawa trailed after him. “Okay, okay, just… be careful?” Oikawa said, impulsively hugging Makki goodbye. “Call me when you get home, no excuses,” he scolded. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks cap. You’d think I was going more than two blocks to the station, gods,” Hanamaki grumbled. Oikawa waved goodbye and Hanamaki chuckled as he headed down the stairs. Oikawa set his phone alarm for the time Makki should be arriving in Miyagi, so he’d be sure to be awake when he called, and went to bed. He loved having Makki over, he just wasn’t used to it so it wiped him out. But visits like that made him almost consider moving back home to be closer to his friend. Almost.

A few hours later, his alarm went off, and Oikawa rolled over to glance at his phone. No call from Makki, but maybe he was running a little late. He got up, grabbed some water, reviewed his notes for the article he was working on. Half an hour later, still no call. 

Now he was starting to get worried. Makki had always called on time before, even if it was just to let Oikawa know the train was running late. But now it was a half hour past when Makki should have arrived in Miyagi, and still no call. Oikawa was getting a little worried. He tried telling himself it was nothing, that Makki was probably tired and just fell asleep or forgot to call, or that he and Matsukawa were celebrating their reunion, but he couldn’t put the niggling worry to rest. He managed to push it another half hour before he caved to the fear and dialled Makki’s number. The call went straight to voicemail, which could’ve meant that Makki had drained his battery, or was out of service range, but Oikawa was still panicked. Matsukawa’s number. 

“There’d better be a damn good reason for you calling me,” Matsukawa growled in lieu of a hello. 

“Has Makki gotten home yet?” Oikawa asked, ignoring Matsukawa’s tone.

Matsukawa’s voice changed in an instant, going from annoyed to worried. “No, I thought he’d stayed an extra night with you. Is he not there?”

“No, he left for the station a couple of hours ago, and even if he was late there was a second train that would’ve gotten him there by now,” Oikawa said. His niggling fear was starting to turn into panic. 

“Have you tried calling him?” Matsukawa demanded. Oikawa could hear him slamming things around, making some kind of background noise. 

“Yeah, I called, it went straight to voicemail. I thought maybe he was out of service or his phone died, but if he’s not there… I don’t know where he is, Mattsun,” Oikawa said.

Matsukawa hissed a breath through his teeth. “Okay, okay, we don’t know for sure anything’s wrong, but call the police and report him missing. I’ll- I’ll- I don’t know what I’ll do,” Matsukawa said, his voice cracking. 

“You’re going to go see Iwaizumi. I’ll head up there as soon as the police are done with me, I’m sure he’s fine and we’re worrying for nothing,” Oikawa said, praying that he wasn’t lying to the both of them. “I’ll call when I leave, okay?”

“Okay,” Matsukawa agreed. “Keep me updated?”

“Always,” Oikawa promised. 

*

The next hour was exhausting. Oikawa ran over the timeline a few dozen times with an officer, and then the same officer told him to stay at the station and wait until the officers were done canvassing the area between Oikawa’s apartment and the train station. He sat in the lobby area with a cup of terrible coffee, texting Matsukawa almost constantly even though he had nothing to tell him. 

Finally, an officer came up to him. “Oikawa-san?” she asked. 

Oikawa leapt up, nearly knocking the lukewarm coffee out of his lap in his haste. “Yes, uh, yes that’s me, do you have any news?”

The officer’s face was painfully neutral as she lead him back to a private office. 

“Oikawa-san, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”


	11. When the Night Keeps You (From Sleeping)

Matsukawa looked terrible. He and Iwaizumi had been sitting up with cooling cups of tea staring at Mattsun’s phone, unable to do anything but wait for it to ring. Finally, Oikawa’s caller ID popped up, and Matsukawa fumbled to answer the phone. Iwaizumi watched as Matsukawa put the phone to his ear and stepped a bit away so he could have some privacy. 

“Oikawa, what’s going on? Is he okay? Did they find him?” Matsukawa asked quietly, his voice rushed and frightened. Iwaizumi’s grip on his cup tightened in nerves. “Oh, oh gods. No. No no no no no…” Matsukawa went silent, his shoulders stiff and head hung low. “I- I can’t-” His voice broke into a sob, raw and soul-deep. Without warning, he hit his knees, phone still pressed to his ear, and Iwaizumi ran to his side. 

Mattsun had tears streaming down his face, and a death grip on the phone in his hands, so Iwaizumi just knelt beside him, a firm hand on his shoulder to anchor Matsukawa while he tried not to jump to any conclusions. Mentally he’d been preparing for the worst since a frantic Matsukawa had run downstairs, panic etched on his face, but there was still a small part of him that was praying to any god he could think to name that Hanamaki was okay. 

He could hear someone on the other end of the line speaking, but Matsukawa wasn’t responding. Carefully, Iwaizumi reached over and one by one prised Mattsun’s fingers away from the phone. Matsukawa’s hand went limp and dropped down to his side while Iwaizumi took the phone. 

“Mattsun? Mattsun, you need to answer me, I can’t- I need you to answer,” a familiar voice said from the other end of the line. Iwaizumi felt his heart drop, both from hearing Oikawa’s voice after so long and from the grief audible even over the crap connection. 

“What happened?” Iwaizumi finally said, voice thick with fear. 

Oikawa sucked in a shocked gasp so loud Iwaizumi could hear it, but after a second he responded. “Um, they uh, they found him. On the way to the station, just inside an alleyway. Someone…” Oikawa paused to clear his throat. “Someone must’ve hit him and kept going. THe officers- they said he walked away, made it a block back towards my place, but couldn’t go any farther.” Oikawa’s voice cut off, and Iwaizumi took a shaky breath. 

“So he’s…?” Iwaizumi was afraid to say it out loud. As long as he didn’t say it, it wasn’t real. 

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s- he’s dead,” Oikawa managed, and then made a shattered sound. Iwaizumi sat in shocked silence, suddenly grateful he was on the floor beside Matsukawa, otherwise he’d have fallen to the floor. Oikawa took a few seconds over the phone to pull himself together before he spoke again. “Listen, Iwa- Iwaizumi, I’ve gotta go, the officers need me. I’ll uh- I’ll be up there as soon as they let me go.”

Iwaizumi nodded numbly, but then remembered that he was on the phone and so Oikawa couldn’t see him. “Okay, um, okay,” he said, and let the call end without another word being spoken. He set the phone down on the ground beside them, and then moved a bit to face Matsukawa. The other man had stopped crying, and was instead staring woodenly into the middle distance. 

“Mattsun, hey, let’s get off the floor,” Iwaizumi said. “We’re gonna go into the living room, okay? Sit on the couch for a bit.” He stood on shaking legs, and helped Matsukawa stand as well. Together they walked to the couch and nearly collapsed the second they were near the cushions. 

Matsukawa seemed to be coming out of his shock enough to talk. At least, he was muttering to himself. Just nonsense mostly, with the occasional mention of _’Hiro_. Iwaizumi felt almost like he was intruding, watching Mattsun try to process his grief, but the secondhand embarrassment was hard to hear under the dull roar of grief. 

At least Iwaizumi was practiced in his grief, experienced in how to push through the pain and make himself function. Mattsun and Makki had stood by him when he’d lost his mother, practically held his hand through the whole process, and now Iwaizumi would do the same. 

They sat together in silence for a while, Mattsun still murmuring a little to himself. Iwaizumi made hushing sounds, just nonsense noises meant to comfort and soothe Matsukawa. Part of him wanted to lie to Matsukawa, to tell him it’d be okay, that they’d get through it. But he couldn’t lie to his friend, and he knew Matsukawa wasn’t ready to hear the truth.

That it was going to hurt like hell. That there would be days where the stabbing-sharp hurt in his chest would be so extreme that he’d honestly consider going to the hospital because there was no way in hell that much pain was normal. That some days he’d think he was fine, but the moment he took a single step out of his house, out of his room, out of his _bed_ , he’d break down crying. That even years later it would haunt him, make him question each action he took, make him wonder if there was anything he could’ve done, any way it could’ve been stopped. That he would never stop blaming himself, just a little, even if there was nothing he could have possible done or not done that would have changed the outcome. 

Iwaizumi shook his head a bit, tried to focus, tried to find that part of him that had made him the pillar of Seijo. If Iwaizumi knew his friend, and after nearly fourteen years he was pretty confident he did, Matsukawa was feeling numb, shocked, and any emotion that he could cling to would be better than the current chasm of nothing. He took a deep breath. “Oikawa’s going to come up here, probably tomorrow,” Iwaizumi said. 

It had almost the expected reaction. Anger and annoyance flickered across Mattsun’s face. “Of fucking course he is,” Matsukawa muttered. Iwaizumi let some relief course through his body. Silence stretched between them for a time, before Matsukawa finally burst into speech. “I _know_ it’s not his fault, whatever happened he wouldn’t have done anything to hurt ‘Hiro, but-” Matsukawa falls silent again, his body shaking either with grief or anger, maybe both. 

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Iwaizumi could already tell where his thoughts were going. If Makki hadn’t gone to Tokyo, if he hadn’t wanted to visit Oikawa, if Oikawa hadn’t left in the first place, none of it would’ve happened. Iwaizumi knew that wasn’t fair, just like Matsukawa did. But _gods_ it would be so _easy_ to do. To blame Oikawa for everything, and just let that anger drown out any pain he was feeling. It was tempting, to be sure. 

But he couldn’t do that. Not knowing that Oikawa could be, and if he was anything at all like the Oikawa he’d once known, _would_ be, blaming himself for everything. Iwaizumi still cared for him, even if it was just for the person he used to know, and he didn’t want to hate him. 

Matsukawa, on the other hand, was entitled to hate Oikawa as much as he wanted. Iwaizumi wasn’t going to tell him what to do in this, his only job was to be there and listen. To support and mourn in his own way. Of the three of them, Iwaizumi was easily the best equipped to deal with it. At least he was familiar with it, and knew how to focus on facts and lists to keep the pain at bay until he could process it. How to shift focus from his own sadness to help others with theirs. It was a skill he didn’t want Mattsun to need, but Iwaizumi was glad he had it. He had the feeling it was going to serve him well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry


	12. (Even If) It Leads Nowhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief break in the alternating POV pattern here, we're still with Iwaizumi, just for continuity's sake.

Mattsun took off later that morning. He murmured something about going to Kunimi’s place, and Iwaizumi let him go. He did call Kunimi quickly to let him know what had happened, and explain that Matsukawa would be turning up at his and Kindaichi’s apartment shortly. Kunimi took it pretty well, from what little Iwaizumi could read in the man’s voice. He simply acknowledged it, offered his condolences to Iwaizumi, and ended the call with a promise to text as soon as Matsukawa arrived. Iwaizumi nodded to himself after the call ended, consumed for a moment by jealousy of Kunimi’s ability to simply roll with the punches. 

He took a deep breath and tried to work through it. In his head, he heard his mother’s voice, reminding him gently that everyone dealt with their feelings differently, and he should let them feel things in their own way. The advice had been regarding Oikawa, back in middle school when the boy had been so full of rage Iwaizumi genuinely didn’t know how to process it, but it was still good advice. But even with that good advice echoing in his mind, he still felt the pinpricks of jealousy itching under his skin. He paced the house trying to relieve it, and the physical activity helped a little, but not enough. Not enough.

So on his next route around the house, he stopped to change into running clothes, and pulled on his sneakers. It’d been longer than he’d like to admit since he last went for a run, but today, he needed it. He laced the sneakers tight and tugged to make sure they wouldn’t come dislodged while he ran. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed his phone and headphones, plugging in and queueing up his running playlist. 

On the way out the door he snagged his keys off the hook and remembered to lock up for once, and then took off down the street. 

Almost immediately his legs started to sting. Sure, his job required a lot of physical labor, but running was something he’d let fall by the wayside the past few years, and his legs were certainly protesting the sudden activity. It was good pain, though, something for Iwaizumi to focus on as he mentally adjusted his route for what he figured his new stamina would allow. 

As he ran, his mind went pleasantly blank, all of his thoughts narrowed down to his regular breathing, the thump of his feet against the pavement, and the burn in his thighs. After a few blocks, he allowed a few select thoughts to intrude on his peace. 

Oikawa would be arriving soon. Would they even see each other? How would it work? It’d been so long, and they’d left things on such terrible terms, that Iwaizumi couldn’t imagine how they’d try to work through it on its own, not to mention the grief they were both feeling. It would be hard for them to manage to be acquaintances, much less friends. From what Iwaizumi had gathered over the past few years, Oikawa had very few of either. His former roommates, perhaps, counted, but Iwaizumi seldom heard much about them in the secondhand stories Makki had relayed. If Oikawa was anything like Iwaizumi suspected, he was going to need Iwaizumi’s support just as much as Matsukawa would. 

There was some kind of longing boiling under Iwaizumi’s skin, and he knew it traced back to Oikawa. He wasn’t sure how to put into words what he wanted to happen. It wasn’t that he was looking to make Oikawa love him, or to earn forgiveness over something that had happened in the rash burn of youth.

He just knew he didn’t want more of this, this radio silence between them. Makki being gone just cemented how important Iwaizumi’s friends were, and distance or no distance, time or no time, Oikawa had been his friend once. And if they had been friends once, they could do it again. 

His lungs were beginning to burn to match his legs, and Iwaizumi gave in to the demands of his body with reluctance, letting his feet turn the corner and begin the route back to his home. The run had done its job in distracting him for as long as it could, but now his legs were turning to jelly and he needed to cool down and stretch or he’d end up with leg cramps in addition to everything else. 

Iwaizumi finished his cooldown just as he reached his front door, and fumbled for a moment before remembering to unlock the door. He stepped into the house, confused when it was silent, then remembering Mattsun’s absence. Only a week of having someone in his home, and he’d gone and gotten used to it. Iwaizumi chuckled at his own idiocy, and moved through his stretches automatically. 

It wasn’t that he was lonely, per se. At least not usually. But right now, feeling like one of his limbs had been ripped away without warning, when he’d already been missing one, it would have been nice to come home and hear some other sign of life. Not even necessarily see anyone, just to hear someone making tea in the kitchen or singing in the shower and know that they were there. Just so he didn’t feel quite so… unmoored. 

But his house was empty now, and it would stay empty until Matsukawa came back, if he came back. If he didn’t, Iwaizumi knew he’d eventually get used to the silence again, even if it did seem just a little bit haunting at the moment. Soon, the silence would become solace again, and he would be able to function. But just for now, just this one moment Iwaizumi had to himself, he allowed it all to hit him. Just for a second, while no one was there to watch, Iwaizumi took advantage of his empty home and let himself break.

His muscles were sore and his emotions were close to the surface, so it didn’t take much more than Iwaizumi’s conscious permission for the tears to start. And once they started, they wouldn’t stop. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs broke free, shattering the silence of his home while Iwaizumi sat in a heap on the floor, not even completely out of his stretch. He slowly shifted so that his knees were hugged against his shoulders and his head hung between them, tears pouring down his cheeks and tickling his neck in the worst possible way. 

Dry-throated but unable to stop, Iwaizumi sat and cried, let the grief wash over him in waves. But now he knew this kind of storm, and knew how to keep his head just above water. He wasn’t necessarily thriving, but he was _surviving_ , and that was all that mattered. All he had to do was survive this, just like he’d survived everything else. If he could fight hard enough, if he could make it through, then he’d be okay. Not right away, but someday, _someday_ , he’d be okay. 

He had to be.


	13. When Two Worlds Collide

Wind swept up from the street to greet Oikawa as he disembarked the train early in the evening. The air still smelled the same, clean and fresh and free from the pollutants that were so common in Tokyo. There was nothing wrong with the city air, honestly Oikawa preferred it nine times out of ten. But sometimes he craved the slower pace of his hometown. 

He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t notified anyone of his arrival yet, and so could wander a bit before needing to face anyone he’d once known.

As he walked, he could feel eyes tracking him from the different storefronts. In his overly-crisp suit and loosened tie with a ratty old sports bag slung over his shoulder, he made an incongruous picture. No wonder the woman manning the counter at the convenience store Oikawa once spent his afternoons after practice at stopped him as he meandered the rearranged aisles. 

“Sir? Is there some way I can help you? Are you lost?” she asked kindly.

He laughed, airy and hollow. “No, ma’am, I’m not lost. Thank you,” he said, and stepped out of the store quickly before she could question him further. He walked slowly, letting his feet carry him wherever they wanted. He passed the park where he first set a volleyball, now the lot was filled with an apartment complex. The restaurant where he’d once made Makki laugh so hard he’d snorted soba out of his nose had been replaced with karaoke. The creek he and Mattsun had fallen into while racing to the gym one day had become overgrown and choked with trees. He wasn’t sure what would’ve been stranger; for the town to be completely unchanged from his memories, or this odd sense of displacement as he realized this was no longer the home he’d known for nineteen years. 

His memories were so fresh and vivid it felt wrong to see them superimposed by the new scenery. 

Without intending to, he found himself at Aoba Jousai. Though everyone who could know him there was gone, the school still looked the same. The lights in the gymnasium were on, indicating a late-running practice. Or perhaps, another over-dedicated captain destroying themselves over a passion. Oikawa stood there for too long, staring at the lights and recalling the obsession of his youth. If he struggled, he could remember the intensity he’d had for volleyball, but it had been so long since he’d so much as touched the ball gathering dust in his closet that he felt it more like a book he’d read once as a child; strong, but with a disconnect that made it seem unreal. Even the heartbreaking, soul-searing loss of his third year felt so far away. 

The air that when Oikawa had arrived had seemed so refreshing now seemed heavier and more oppressive than it had ever been before. The wind had died down, leaving the whole town silent as the residents went home for dinner. Oikawa sighed, trying to shake the lead out of his limbs as he dragged his feet away from the school gates. He found himself craving the bustle of Tokyo where, no matter what, there were crowds. Tourists in packs with their backpacks and upturned heads staring at the bustle, businessmen in their spiffy attire and practical shoes as they half-walked half-ran to stations, pretty girls in their shorts and sunglasses, handsome boys in vests and caps, all on their way somewhere; crowds that Oikawa could lose his sense of self in. Anything, even the clouds of smog and smoke, would be better than this calm before the storm. 

At least in Tokyo he could focus on his goals, he could trick himself into thinking he was changing the world instead of just being swept along by the tide of time. Here, he had nothing to hide behind. All of his articles, deadlines, and interviews seemed irrelevant. The town had changed with no regard to what he was doing without it. The people there likely didn’t even remember his name, or remember what he’d done while he was here. He might have been a footnote in the town’s gossip for a year or two, but as he tried to carve a space for himself in Tokyo, his hometown had let trees and apartment buildings creep over the space he’d once occupied until there was no evidence he’d ever been there. 

His feet carried him without his conscious direction, and when he looked up to see where he’d gone, he found himself in his old neighborhood, exactly one block away from his childhood home. Unsteady feet carried him up the drive and around the house. Muscle memory had him stooping to grab a pebble to hurl at the corner window, and by the time he came to his senses enough to realize what he’d done, the window opened. 

“I have a door, you know,” Iwaizumi said, leaning on his windowsill. 

Oikawa didn’t reply. 

Iwaizumi sighed. “If you’re gonna do this, at least do it right. Use the door, it’s open.” He closed the window and turned out the light in his room. 

As he walked back around the house, Oikawa’s hands clenched and unclenched uncontrollably, trying to push some kind of sensation past the white noise roaring in his mind. He approached the door like a man going to the gallows, feet dragging but moving forward because there was nowhere else to go. 

Shaking fingers fumbled with the doorknob, but eventually he got them to cooperate enough to open the door. He stepped inside, toed off his shoes, and got halfway through an instinctual _tadaima_ before remembering it’d been well over a decade since he’d last entered the house. 

“ _Ojama shimasu,_ ” he mumbled instead. 

Iwaizumi stood just a few feet away, and had heard his mistake. He stepped closer, and Oikawa couldn’t look at him. “Tooru,” Iwaizumi said, reaching out a hand and grasping his shoulder. “Okaeri.”

And just that, just hearing his given name and that simple word, broke the dam Oikawa had built up in his mind. Tears began to fill his eyes, and Iwaizumi, always his pillar, even after all these years apart, pulled him against his chest. As Oikawa sobbed, Iwaizumi held him close and made soothing sounds, not trying to quiet him but letting him know he wasn’t alone in his pain.

“Sshhh, Tooru, shhh. You’re alright, you’ll be alright,” Iwaizumi murmured. 

Oikawa choked on a sob, not really hearing what Iwaizumi was saying. “It’s not fair, it just isn’t fair,” he whimpered, pulling back to try and communicate for just once.

“No, it isn’t,” Iwaizumi agreed, his eyes dry and hard as stones. His arms had gone stiff around Oikawa when he’d pulled back, and now they seemed as heavy as lead around Oikawa’s shoulders. 

“Can- can we just- just-” Oikawa’s voice cracked and he buried his face in Iwaizumi’s chest. 

Iwaizumi understood anyway. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he said. Oikawa peeled himself away and Iwaizumi grabbed his hand, leading him upstairs towards his room. Instead of turning left into what Oikawa thought of as Iwaizumi's bedroom, Iwaizumi guided him right into the master bedroom.

It’d been years since Oikawa had last been in any room that held an Iwa-chan, and this was clearly the room of an adult, not that of a high school boy. Gone were the posters of athletes and movies, replaced with photographs and a calendar, the figurines and manga that once lined the shelves had been replaced with novels and old textbooks, the once-colorful bedspread had changed to a neutral black comforter with gray sheets and pillowcases. The only remnant of the old room that Oikawa could see was a single plush alien toy, precariously balanced on the desk between a stack of periodicals and a cup of pencils. 

Fresh tears started at the sight of it, and Iwaizumi had to guide Oikawa to lay down next to him on the bed, over the blankets. Without thinking, Oikawa curled into Iwaizumi’s chest once again, tucking himself into the smaller man and letting his already soaked shirt hold the rest of his tears. 

He couldn’t say how long he cried, but when his tears had finally subsided, Iwaizumi hardly moved, just pulled a bottle of water from his bedside drawer and forced Oikawa to sit up and drink it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Iwazumi asked. 

Oikawa took a long, shuddering breath. “Not yet,” he finally said. “I- I couldn’t even go home, I don’t think I can say it yet.”

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, Tooru, but I won’t fight you on it,” he finally said. Oikawa hiccuped, the sound an odd bastard of a hysterical laugh and a sob choked back. 

“So you _do_ care, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, trying to sound light but just sounding hoarse. 

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi gathered Oikawa back against his chest. Oikawa nuzzled closer, pressing his nose into Iwaizumi’s neck and breathing deep. Exhaustion settled into his bones, pressing his body down into the bed and forward into Iwaizumi. “Oi, at least get under the blankets first,” Iwaizumi grumbled. When Oikawa didn’t move, he started shifting them around awkwardly to flip the blanket over them both. Oikawa ended up with the majority of the covers; as his body came down from the crying jag, a deep chill had sunk into him. 

Oikawa was sure he was too exhausted to sleep, but Iwaizumi didn’t seem to mind his occasional fidgeting. Through the night, he held Oikawa close, and let his own heartbeat and steady breath slowly lull Oikawa to sleep. Just before Oikawa drifted away completely, he felt a soft kiss press against his forehead. 

The morning was going to be hard. It would be one of the hardest of Oikawa’s life. But just like anything else, he’d have to find a way to get through, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally we arrive at the chapter that was originally a fucking one shot that then spawned this whole damn fic. I've tweaked it here and there to fit the current fic as a whole better, so if you by chance read the one-shot, be prepared for that. 
> 
> I really wasn't kidding with that slow burn tag kids, it took thirteen chapters for them to even see each other again, and you all know that this won't solve it all.


	14. (I Don't Think) You Can Save Me

Iwaizumi came awake with a jolt, his alarm blaring to wake him for work. He dragged himself out of the comfort of his bed and towards the shower, brain fuzzy and only understanding that he needed to get ready for work. It was only after he’d washed and was halfway through shaving that he realized something was missing. 

He’d woken up alone. 

His first instinct was to drop everything and run back to his room, search for a note he didn’t actually expect to find, but he quelled the reaction and calmly finished shaving. Once the last of his stubble was gone, he forced himself to walk calmly back to his room and get dressed for work. He couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the room for a sticky note, a napkin, _anything_ that could explain where Oikawa had gone, but he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see anything. 

As nice as it’d been to pretend, Oikawa was never going to be the type to stick around. Sure, he’d stay for the funeral, but Iwaizumi was willing to bet money that the moment the funeral was over, Oikawa would be on the next train for Tokyo. 

And he was accepting of that… mostly. There was a small part of him, bitter and overly-sentimental, that wondered _why_. Why Oikawa couldn’t speak to him, why Oikawa couldn’t even _look_ at him properly. Why he had remained silent for so long, and why even now, when they both needed someone, he held back. There was so much Iwaizumi wondered, but couldn’t ask. 

Once upon a time, Iwaizumi had been able to take a single glance at Oikawa and know exactly what the boy was thinking. Sometimes, it didn’t even take a glance, Iwaizumi could just _tell_ when Oikawa was happy, or sad, or scheming, without ever having to put the boy in his field of vision. But somewhere along the line, Iwaizumi had lost the ability to read Oikawa. 

He’d tried, for so long, to apologize, to bridge the gap between them, and finally he’d just… given up. He’d given up on his best friend. 

But Oikawa had given up on him first. Oikawa was the one who left, Oikawa was the one who’d ignored Iwaizumi’s every attempt at apology. 

They were both to blame in this. 

*

He went to work, and thanked whatever deities happen to be keeping an eye on upset shopkeepers for making it a slow day until one of the kids he’d hired came in to relieve him for the evening shift. He reminded her of the shipment arriving later that night, and let her know he’d be arriving early the next morning to take care of it, so all she needed to do was ensure that the boxes made it into the back. 

The day had been long and slow, with too much time to think, but had it been any busier, he’d inevitably have messed something up. His mind had been elsewhere all day, and he was lucky nobody had needed much more than someone to scan their items and issue their change. He dragged himself home and started on dinner. Halfway through pulling out all of the ingredients for an actual meal, he gave up on cooking. Instead, he just reheated some leftover soup and gulped it down while watching some mindless show on television. He had just gotten into pajamas when he heard a knock on the door. 

He knew it wasn’t Matsukawa, they’d been texting back and forth in spurts all day, trying to navigate their friendship without Hanamaki in it. It was going alright, but not so well that Matsukawa would show up without telling him first. Iwaizumi couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be at his doorstep at this hour of the night. Perhaps someone on his block had ordered take out and the delivery driver had misread the address. He shrugged and opened the door, fully expecting a teenager with a box of pizza or plastic bag full of cheap food, but instead, he found one Oikawa Tooru standing outside, his bag slung over his shoulder and large purple-blue half moons under his eyes. 

Oikawa somehow looked even thinner than when Iwaizumi had seen him the night before. He looked like he hadn’t slept, even though Iwaizumi could swear he’d slept at least a little when he’d been over the night before. Iwaizumi felt color flood his cheeks when he remembered exactly what had gone on the night before, but thankfully Oikawa wasn’t looking at him and so couldn’t say anything. Instead, Oikawa was staring studiously at his feet, as he shuffled them carefully on the porch. 

Neither of them spoke or a long time. They made a strange tableau; Iwaizumi standing startled with the door open, his house warm and well-lit behind him while he was barefoot and clad in plaid pajama pants and an old volleyball shirt, Oikawa in a wrinkled suit and dress shoes with his tie tugged loose and eyes downcast with streetlight pooling around him and the night air breezing by cool. Finally, Iwaizumi broke the strange silence. 

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked. 

“That depends, are _you_ going to say anything?” Oikawa replied, his mouth contorting into a half-smirk. 

“I just did, asshole,” Iwaizumi snarked. 

“Well, I did too, so are you going to let me in or keep me waiting on the porch all night?” Oikawa teased. Iwaizumi smiled a little, but it felt bitter and wrong on his lips. He let his mouth fall into the more natural scowl, but stepped back to allow Oikawa entry. 

Oikawa stepped inside, but didn’t say a word as he toed off his shoes and set his bag down. 

Iwaizumi started back towards the kitchen, already speaking. “I’ve uh, already eaten, but there’s food in the fridge and I can reheat something if you want-” 

“Look, can we not do this?” Oikawa interrupted. Iwaizumi turned around abruptly. “This whole, _we’re friends, everything’s fine, it’s all okay_ , thing. We haven’t- we can’t- we just,” Oikawa paused, and gave an annoyed sigh. He didn’t say anything else, and Iwaizumi finally stopped waiting.

“You look like a dead man walking,” Iwaizumi eventually said. “Go take a shower, you can crash in the guest room tonight.” Whatever Oikawa was thinking, whatever bizarre thoughts were making him turn up again, Iwaizumi knew it wouldn’t last long, so he might as well indulge them. 

Oikawa nodded and started upstairs towards the shower. He looked almost wobbly, so Iwaizumi reached out to grab his elbow, or his arm, something to help steady him on the stairs, but when his fingers brushed skin Oikawa jerked away like he’d been burnt. Iwaizumi shrank back and let Oikawa stumble up the stairs on his own. When Oikawa stepped into the bathroom, Iwaizumi headed for the guest room. He quickly switched the sheets and fluffed the pillow, then stood in the center of the room awkwardly, looking from the bed to the door, then back again. Finally, he sighed and left the room. 

In the ensuite, Iwaizumi focused on brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. He could distantly hear the water still running in the shower as he climbed into bed and tried to force himself to sleep. It almost worked, his mind was pleasantly fuzzy and out of focus until he heard the water shut off, then his body and mind went on high alert. He heard the bathroom door open and close, and waited to hear the guest room open and shut. Instead, his own bedroom door creaked open slowly.

Iwaizumi focused on keeping his eyes shut and his breathing steady as the door slipped shut again and soft footsteps shuffled across the floorboard towards his bed. He held carefully still, not too stiff nor too relaxed, and kept his breathing as even as he could with Oikawa Tooru sneaking into his bedroom. The far side of the bed sagged under a cautious weight, and the blankets shifted a little as Oikawa slid underneath them and tucked himself a few inches from Iwaizumi. 

Oikawa was just a breath away, just behind Iwaizumi’s back. If he’d really wanted to, Iwaizumi could roll over, talk to him, do _something_ , but in the end, he didn’t. He just laid there in silence, listening to Oikawa’s unsteady breathing. 

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa breathed at some point, and Iwaizumi felt the words cut through him like a knife. Oikawa didn’t say anything else, just fell asleep, but Iwaizumi stayed awake all night, pretending to sleep next to his former best friend. 

He didn’t give up the ruse, not even when Oikawa woke before dawn to sneak out of his bed, out of his room, out of his house before the sun could come up and reveal the tear stains on Iwaizumi’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good lord these boys are killing me


	15. And Bare My Soul

Oikawa half-fled Iwaizumi’s house after a scant few hours of sleep. It was enough, though, more than he was getting at the cheap hotel he’d put himself up in rather than go stay with his parents. But as nice as it would have been to stay there all night, sleep peacefully next to the man, Oikawa just couldn’t make himself do it. If he stayed, if he let himself wake up with Iwaizumi, let himself make coffee and prepare a small breakfast alongside the man, he’d end up pouring out everything he’d kept bottled up for so long. He’d come close the night before, whispering a hoarse apology to Iwaizumi’s sleeping form. And Iwaizumi didn’t need that, didn’t need his apologies or his forgiveness, neither of them needed to be dragging out old wounds when they still had one so fresh to work through. Far better, then, to leave the past in the past, and focus on the present, focus on pushing forward despite the pain. Oikawa had experience in that, at least. 

So he’d run, albeit slowly at first, quietly, carefully creeping out of Iwaizumi’s bed and home and then sprinting down the street as quickly as he could. He’d run the same track he used to when he was younger, and though his knee groaned just a bit, physio had been much harder than a quick run to burn off his doubts. He made it to the train station, and slowed to walk to avoid the stares he was certain to draw from the early morning commuters. The train was quiet so early in the morning, with the sun just barely able to peek out over the horizon, and sleepy-eyed commuters paid Oikawa no mind as he rode the train to the end of the local line and back again just to kill time. 

He returned to his hotel room to shower and change, and then fled the bland room in favor of grabbing something for lunch from a local convenience store. A young woman stood behind the counter, and she smiled gently at him as he stared down the meagre selection of pre-made bentos. He hurried his purchase, not feeling quite in the mood to smile and make small talk with the bored shopgirl, and rushed back to the hotel to eat his meal in silence. 

Everything tasted like cardboard, but Oikawa thought that was more his own distraction and less the quality of the food. As he sat, staring blankly across the room and out the window, his phone began to buzz lightly on the table. He answered without looking at it, murmuring _Oikawa_ at it half-heartedly. 

“You’re coming out with me tonight,” Mattsun said firmly. “We need to clear the air before tomorrow, and I can’t stay with Kunimi and Kindaichi much longer or Kindaichi might actually smother me.” 

Oikawa tried to conjure some surprise over Matsukawa even speaking to him, much less inviting him out, but all he could feel was pure gratitude, that they might be able to talk and eat together like acquaintances. He didn’t expect them to be friends, not with all Oikawa was to blame for, but acquaintances they could handle, maybe, just maybe. 

They set a time and a neutral place for them to meet, a new bar neither of them had ever been to in a part of town they’d rarely been to as teens. Oikawa got there hours early, and spent the extra time wandering the shopfronts and trying not to terrify the passerbys who seemed to be able to sense the great cloud of nerves hanging over Oikawa’s head like the Sword of Damocles. 

Finally, dusk fell and Matsukawa arrived, a light jacket on to ward off the spring chill. He lifted a hand in greeting and Oikawa crossed the sidewalk to meet him. 

“You can yell at me all you like in a minute,” Oikawa insisted, reading the frustration and anger in Mattsun’s frame, and then enveloped him in a hug. Matsukawa returned the hug fiercely, and they stood like that for a moment, hugging each other tightly, before they broke apart and headed into the bar. 

They snagged a table towards the back and ordered drinks quickly, just simple beers that would make the conversation flow a little more comfortably. 

Matsukawa took a large swig of his the moment it arrived. “You left us,” he said after swallowing. “Not just Iwaizumi, Oikawa, you left everyone. And no, sending us a new number and telling us to visit doesn’t make it any better. Makki- he was a _wreck_ about it, worried about you constantly. We kept coming up with these ridiculous schemes to try and get you to come back, just so you and Iwaizumi would talk and we could all be friends again. But none of them ever worked.” He paused. “Makki kept trying though, kept visiting even when I told him it was useless, that he should just give up on you. You clearly didn’t care about us, so why should we care about you?”

Silence fell between them, awkward and palpable. Oikawa knew what Matsukawa wanted to say, so he finished the phrase for him. “And now he’s dead because of me,” Oikawa said sadly. He took a deep drink of his beer and wished it didn’t make him feel sick to his stomach. Or maybe it was the guilt that kept nagging at his insides, making him nauseous and restless. 

“That’s not what I said,” Matsukawa replied. “I’m not gonna say I don’t blame you, a little, but… I know it isn’t your fault. I _know_ you care about us, you cared about Makki. It’s just…”

“It’s just that I left, and I’m going to leave again,” Oikawa finished. Matsukawa nodded. 

“And you’re going to leave _soon_ , it’s not like you’re leaving in ten years. You’re leaving, what, tomorrow? Maybe the next day if we’re lucky. I can’t- can’t afford to forgive you for everything if you’re just going to leave all over again,” Matsukawa said. His beer was nearly empty now, and his eyes were hollow and dark. 

Oikawa sighed. “That’s- that’s fair.” They fall silent again, this time less tense but still omnipresent over their drinks. Oikawa finished his drink and had no desire to have another, but Matsukawa was well into his third. “I’m going to go. You should go- maybe not home, but go somewhere, get some sleep,” Oikawa advised. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Matsukawa nodded, exhausted, and continued nursing his beer. As Oikawa walked to the train station, he made a point of shooting a text off to Watari, one of the few he’d kept vaguely in touch with since high school, and let him know where Matsukawa was and what he was doing. Watari promised to take care of him, and Oikawa was able to board the train without feeling guilty for leaving Mattsun alone in a bar in a strange part of town.

One less thing for Oikawa to worry about, he supposed. Now if he could just get through tomorrow, he could go back to Tokyo and put this whole hellish week in the past where it belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa Tooru hails from my school of grief in which you just act like everything is peachy and fine until you're alone and then you completely shut down or freak out. Very healthy, Tooru, great job.


	16. Like a Joke or a Memory

Iwaizumi got off work and found a few texts from Watari, telling him that Mattsun was out in some bar across town and needed someone to go get him. Watari would do it, but he was at work and couldn’t make it out at the moment. Iwaizumi shot a message back saying he’d head that way immediately. With the day they both had coming, Iwaizumi figured he and Matsukawa could use a few drinks. 

He took the train with his headphones on, making sure to keep a listening ear for his stop, and got off as close to the bar as he could. The walk wasn’t too bad, it could even be considered pleasant, but Iwaizumi had no head at the moment to focus on things like the warmth of spring and the pleasantness of the sunshine. Instead he almost smiled when the bar proved to be dimly lit and quiet. 

Matsukawa was seated in the back of the bar, at a round table, slumped in his chair and staring into his glass. Iwaizumi approached with caution, but sat down as casually as he could. “Yo,” he said after a tense few minutes in which Matsukawa made no sign that he’d noticed him. 

“Yo,” Mattsun replied. His eyes flicked upwards briefly and registered Iwaizumi’s presence, but then returned to staring at his drink. “I saw Oikawa today.” 

Iwaizumi struggled to keep a straight face. “Oh. What… what did you guys talk about?” he asked. 

The other man shrugged. “Nothing much. I pretty much told him he was an awful person for leaving us, and implied everything was his fault. But he just sat there and _took_ it. Didn’t try to argue, didn’t say it wasn’t his fault. Nothing. Just let me be awful to him, and then paid for my drinks.” Mattsun shook his head. “Same old Oikawa.”

“Yeah, that does sound like him,” Iwaizumi said woodenly, as if he had any idea what Oikawa would or wouldn’t do anymore. 

Matsukawa glanced up and eyed him speculatively. “Something’s up. You’ve got your secret face on,” Mattsun said. Iwaizumi opened his mouth to deny it, but Matsukawa spoke over him. “Nope, it’s your duty to distract me tonight, so spill the beans, Iwaizumi. What’s up with you?”

Iwaizumi sighed, and signaled for a drink. He was gonna need so much alcohol if he was going to be talking about this.

*

“So he’s been showing up, and you’ve just been _letting_ him?” Matsukawa said. He’d been saying essentially the same thing for a good ten minutes, and Iwaizumi’s patience was beginning to wane. 

“Yeah. I just can’t tell him no.” Iwaizumi hesitated, then tried to explain. “I think we just both need someone right now. And we used to be friends. So we’re just… pretending nothing happened, so long as it’s dark. He leaves before the sun comes up, and it’s not like we’ve spoken outside of that.” 

“And is that what you want?” Matsukawa asked. “A temporary comfort?” He sounded skeptical to say the least, and Iwaizumi downed half his drink rather than look him in the eye. 

Sometimes, Iwaizumi hated how astute his friend could be. 

“No,” Iwaizumi sighed. “It’s not, but I want him. And it’s all I’m going to get from him, so I’ll survive.”

Matsukawa let Iwaizumi’s words sit heavily between them, and swirled his drink around a bit before he spoke again. “‘Hiro and I were talking about moving to Shibuya,” he said, apropos of nothing. “Getting proof of partnership. He wanted to make a bigger deal out of it, but I was afraid of what his parents would say, so I told him we needed to wait and think it over.”

Iwaizumi felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. His friends had wanted to get married - as married as they could under current law. They would’ve been so happy, even if they’d been so far away, and Iwaizumi felt his heart break a little more for his friend. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, because that was what you said when you had no words left to say. 

“Tch,” Matsukawa scoffed. “That’s not what I wanted you to get from that. I meant that you shouldn’t hold back because you’re afraid. If you want something, you need to be upfront about it, or else you’re going to regret it.” 

They were both quietly contemplative for a bit, long enough to finish their current drinks and order another round. And when Iwaizumi finally did speak, it was quiet and fragile. 

“I think I loved him,” Iwaizumi admitted. The words grated like glass leaving his throat, and he half expected his mouth to taste of blood after they passed through. But no, they were just words, no damage done physically. Just an ache in his chest he couldn’t ignore any more.

Matsukawa nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “Makki was convinced you’d been together all of high school and just never mentioned it. I told him that if Oikawa had a catch like you, he’d never shut the fuck up about it.” It was a weak joke, but it surprised a chuckle out of Iwaizumi. 

“I loved him then,” Iwaizumi said, more firmly and certain this time. “And I want to love him again. I just don’t think he’d let me.”

“You’ll never know until you try, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa said sagely, and knocked back the last of his drink. “Take me home, Iwaizumi, I want one last night there like Makki’s just running late.” Iwaizumi could only nod, and take his friend by the arm as they left for the train station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time and next, but believe me, the one after that is a doozy.


	17. (Consider This) My Apology

The sun had gone down, leaving the whole town twilit and haunting enough that Oikawa hustled to the train station to avoid potential memories. His phone provided ample distraction on the ride, and when he stop came up, he hurried out onto the street. He looked around, trying to find the street that led to his hotel. With a start, he realized that instead of getting off at the stop that would have taken him right by his hotel, he’d gotten off at the stop nearest Iwaizumi’s home. 

A sigh of resignation escaped him. He didn’t want to see Iwaizumi again, not when he had this odd itching panic under his skin, but it was getting too late at night for him to be comfortable riding the train. And after all, it was his last night in Miyagi, possibly for good. What harm would one more night next to Iwaizumi do? 

He started down the street in the direction of Iwaizumi’s, kicking himself silently as he crept up the drive to Iwaizumi’s home and unlocked the door. The house was dark and quiet, Iwaizumi was likely at work or maybe even out with Mattsun at the same bar Oikawa had just left. He slipped out of his shoes and jacket, stepped into the living room, and looked around, letting himself explore the house for the first time since his childhood. 

The layout was similar to what he’d known when he and Iwaizumi were children, all the furniture was in about the same place, but the overall feel of the house was different. Back then, it had been a warm, maternal haven, somewhere to while away pleasant hours during breaks and a quiet place to study and have dinner during the school year. Iwaizumi-san had always had scented candles burning when she was home, and it had made the whole house smell like a garden. Now, the house was clearly a bachelor’s abode. Magazines piled up on the coffee table and take-out containers filled the garbage, and the house smelled like laundry detergent and cleaning supplies, not like flowers and sunlight. It wasn’t unpleasant, not by a long shot. It was just disconcerting. 

Iwaizumi’s house was once another version of home, somewhere Oikawa would always be welcome and comfortable. But now, it was simply a harbor in a storm, somewhere for Oikawa to drop anchor for a time until the worst had passed. 

Oikawa stirred from where he’d stood, still as a statue with his hand on the back of the couch, and moved to perch cautiously on the edge of a chair. It was up against the window, facing away from the front door, but had a comfortable blanket and a stack of novels piled next to it. He settled back a bit more comfortably, and drew the blanket around him. A sad smile crossed his face; it smelled like Iwaizumi, like the citrus body wash and orange shampoo he’d used since middle school, and a little bit like the cologne he’d started using come high school. 

He curled up under the blanket and picked a novel at random and began to read. When Iwaizumi would be home, he couldn’t say, and he wasn’t even sure if he’d be welcome once Iwaizumi _did_ arrive. 

There was that strange ache in his chest again, the one that got stronger each time Oikawa fidgeted and was caught in another wave of Iwaizumi’s scent. 

_Just one more day_ , Oikawa kept telling himself. _One more day_. Once more day and he’d never have to see Iwaizumi again. One more day and he could forget this whole thing ever happened. He could put the feelings in a box and lock them up, shove them on the same shelf that held his heartaches from high school and bitterness from college, all he had to do was push through one more sunrise. 

A small part of him questioned if he really _wanted_ to lock all his thoughts of Iwaizumi up again. It sounded annoyingly like Makki, and Oikawa just was not equipped to deal with that at the moment. As a distraction, he pulled out his phone and dialled Kuroo’s number. 

“‘Ello?” a sleepy voice mumbled. 

“Ken-chan!” Oikawa said, a false smile plastered across his face automatically as he spoke. “How are you?”

“Better than you, I imagine,” Kenma answered, still sounding tired but gradually perking up. 

Oikawa chuckled. “You would not be wrong. Is Kuroo around?” 

Kenma was silent for a moment. “He and Bokuto are in the living room. You don’t really want to talk to him right now,” Kenma said. Distantly, Oikawa could hear hooting and crashing. He winced. 

“You’re right, I really don’t,” Oikawa sighed. He waited for Kenma to ask what was wrong, but as usual, the man dodged Oikawa’s expectations and just waited patiently for Oikawa to speak. 

“I’m at Iwaizumi’s place,” Oikawa finally said. Kenma made an assenting noise. “I’ve been coming over every night since I got here. But we don’t- we don’t talk about it, or say anything, and I always leave after a few hours. It’s the best I’ve slept in years,” he added on, and he knew it sounded weak and pathetic and all the things he wasn’t, but he couldn’t help the honesty. If he tried to lie, or omit the truth, Kenma would see through him in a second. 

“Why?” Kenma asked, and to anyone else it would have sounded absent, but Oikawa had learned that Kenma really just acted as a sounding board, letting Oikawa figure things out himself but asking probing and guiding questions to help him get to the right conclusion. It could be obnoxious as hell when you didn’t want the answer, though. 

Oikawa dragged a hand over his face. “I just- I feel safe, I guess? We used to be so close, we were best friends, and with Makki gone now…” he trailed off. “I just think I need a friend right now.”

Kenma scoffed. “Lie,” he said succinctly. Oikawa groaned.

“Yeah, it is,” he grumbled. “I think being up here is messing with my head. It feels like high school again, so all the old feelings are coming back. Feelings I thought I was done with.”

“You love him,” Kenma summed up. 

And wasn’t that a punch in the stomach. Years of fighting it, of pretending nothing was between them, followed by a literal decade of silence, only to have it all come crashing down around Oikawa’s ears because he couldn’t stay away from the man once they were in the same city. He’d thought he was better than that, but evidently, not. Especially not if Kenma, king of emotional distance, was able to see it.

He sighed. “I used to. I don’t know who he is anymore. But… I think I’d like to find out.” Kenma made some kind of humming sound as a response, and Oikawa let the call end there. He drew the blanket closer around him, and began to read. 

Iwaizumi would be back sooner or later, and Oikawa would have to face him. But that was a problem for future Oikawa, and so present Oikawa pushed the thought away, and focused on the book instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god im so sorry work got really hectic and I just haven't had time to post this chapter  
> next chapter is real sad and going up immediately tho so i tried??


	18. I Know (There is No Tomorrow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for extra sad, listen to [this](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/adele-all-i-ask-live_us_567022b3e4b011b83a6c8373) on repeat while reading

When Iwaizumi dragged himself home from dropping Matsukawa off with Watari for the night, he was too exhausted to even pay attention to how easy it was to get inside. Normally it took him a solid five or six minutes to shimmy and shake the lock loose with his key, but this time his key moved with no resistance, and the door opened easily. 

The night had just proved to be too much. Between his feelings for Oikawa and the looming spectre of what was coming the next day, Iwaizumi just couldn’t keep it together much longer. He just had to make it inside, he wasn’t even going to try to get upstairs to his room, and then he could collapse and let himself break. But not until he was inside. 

He was so out of it, so drained and rubbed raw and just bone-deep emotionally _exhausted_ , that his eyes could barely focus, much less realize that his living room lights were on. He stumbled further into the room, a vague thought of collapsing on the couch running through his head. 

“Iwaizumi,” a voice said from behind him. And Iwaizumi just couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t keep being strong and steady, not with that voice and everything it meant to him on top of things. His knees buckled under him, and by the time he hit his knees he was crying, sobbing like a kid again. Warm arms wrapped around him, a soft voice made gentle soothing sounds, and together they rocked back and forth, moving with the motions of Iwaizumi’s sobs. Finally, the gut-wrenching sobs died down, and gave way to silent, grieving tears. He felt a little steadier now, a bit more together, and he tried to pull away so he could pick himself up. 

But Oikawa just moved with him, keeping a steady arm around his shoulders and guiding him upstairs. “C’mon, Iwa-chan, just a little longer,” Oikawa soothed, helping Iwaizumi out of the stifling, heavy fabric of his suit and guiding him into soft sleep pants and a shirt that smelled like sandalwood. “Let’s get you into bed, there you go,” he coached. Once Iwaizumi was ensconced in blankets, Oikawa moved to leave. Iwaizumi’s hand flashed out from underneath the covers, his fingers wrapped like a vise around Oikawa’s wrist. 

“Please,” Iwaizumi croaked out. “Stay.” He couldn’t even raise his head from his pillow to look at Oikawa’s face, but his entire body dissolved into relief so palpable it brought a fresh wave of tears with it when he felt Oikawa climb into bed alongside him. Oikawa ran a gentle hand up and down Iwaizumi’s back while the last of his tears worked their way out of his system. From there, Iwaizumi was wracked with the occasional shuddering dry sob, but after a time that too petered off. Soon his body settled, shivering slightly but mostly powering down. Oikawa continued stroking Iwaizumi’s back even after the shivers finally stopped, and Iwaizumi found himself relaxing into the touch even though he knew he shouldn’t. Already this physical comfort had become too routine for it to be safe, and letting his guard down was a surefire way to end up hurting more in the long run, but at that moment it just didn’t matter. Iwaizumi was weak, and vulnerable, and all the things he wasn’t supposed to be, and for once he just wanted to let himself be that way. He wanted to be taken care of, just for a moment, just to know what it felt like. Just to know what it meant to fall asleep first, wrapped in the arms of someone he loved. 

And Oikawa gave him just that. He held him as he slowly fell asleep, and Iwaizumi would be willing to bet he continued long after he drifted off. 

*

Iwaizumi woke up in the middle of the night with a horrible fear that Oikawa had disappeared. As he fought to make sense of his surroundings, his arms automatically tightened around Oikawa’s stomach. Oikawa sighed into the contact, nuzzling closer to Iwaizumi sleepily. 

“You okay?” Oikawa murmured into Iwaizumi’s hair. Iwaizumi just shook his head, pushing closer to Oikawa. His friend let him do it, even pulled him in against his shoulder so that Iwaizumi’s face was nestled against his neck. 

Oikawa smelled so _good_ ; like sandalwood and vanilla. The scent reminded Iwaizumi of countless nights spent tangled up just like this because it was too cold or too scary to sleep alone, back when they were children and it didn’t mean anything to share a bed like this. 

But now they were adults, two grown men who had their own lives separate from each other, and only the flimsiest remains of a past shared bond holding them together. It had been enough for the past week, with them both trying to process what had happened, but now that the funeral was tomorrow, Iwaizumi knew that Oikawa would be going back to Tokyo, going home, and it was certain that they’d return to their radio silence. Iwaizumi just wasn’t brave enough to look Oikawa in face and try to apologize again just to have it thrown back in his face. Because no matter how many times he’d called or texted or wrote, he’d never made the short trip out to Tokyo. It wouldn’t have been hard, he could’ve done it. But he didn’t. He’d been a coward, not brave enough to face Oikawa then, and he was only barely brave enough to face him now, with it pitch black and the excuse of the emotional week. 

“What can I do?” Oikawa asked, breaking the tension-heavy silence between them. “Tell me how to help you.”

Iwaizumi took a shuddering breath and leaned away just a bit, enough that he could make out Oikawa’s face in the dim light filtering in from the street. He was so beautiful, so _so_ beautiful, that the knowledge of it hurt Iwaizumi’s chest. Oikawa looked down at him, eyes reflecting dimly in the light. For once, Oikawa’s eyes were honest, no duplicity to be found. They were the eyes of a man who was going to leave soon, a man who was drinking in everything he saw so that he could remember it fondly. Iwaizumi was sure his eyes were giving away just as much; how much he needed someone else to be strong, someone to take care of him, his desperate need for Oikawa to _stay_ , even if he was just going to leave in the morning. Iwaizumi needed Oikawa to play pretend, he needed them both to play pretend, just for the night. 

“Please, just,” Iwaizumi started, but he fell silent, unable to ask for anything aloud. Instead he hoped that some trace of their old habits would carry over, and Oikawa would know what he was thinking without him needing to say it aloud. 

Oikawa’s chest raised and lowered with his breath a few times in silence, but Iwaizumi kept watching his face, waiting for any kind signal, something to tell him to move closer or back off. He hoped for the former, but if Oikawa wasn’t on board, he was completely willing to let it fall away and wake up to an empty bed with no useful memories in the morning. 

“I need you to tell me what you need, Hajime,” Oikawa said softly. “Especially with this. I _need_ you to say it.”

Iwaizumi started to shake, subtly, but still trembling just a bit. He took another deep breath, to try and calm his nerves. It would be worth it, if he could just find the courage. It mattered how they left things this time, since Iwaizumi had a way to control what would probably be their last night together. 

“Lie to me,” Iwaizumi finally said. “Act like I’m more than just someone who used to be your friend.” Oikawa’s eyes flashed surprise for a brief moment, but settled into something deeper after a moment.

“Okay,” he said, sliding one of his hands around the back of Iwaizumi’s head. “Okay. But if you change your mind, even for a second, tell me, no exceptions.” Iwaizumi doubted he’d be changing his mind, but he nodded anyway, and didn’t break eye contact as Oikawa leaned in. Oikawa’s eyes slipped closed, but Iwaizumi kept his eyes open even as their lips met. 

Oikawa’s lips were slightly chapped from the recent winter, but took control when after a moment Iwaizumi didn’t move to deepen the kiss. His hand slid from the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck to cradling his jaw as he slipped his tongue out and gently pried Iwaizumi’s mouth open. Carefully, he flipped them both so that Iwaizumi was lying on his back, and Oikawa was straddling his hips. His free hand moved from Iwaizumi’s shoulder down his arm to tangle their fingers together. 

Iwaizumi wished he had the presence of mind to turn on the lights so he could commit all of this to memory. He didn’t want to forget the way Oikawa looked as he peeled off his tee shirt, or the way he huffed a breath through his nose when Iwaizumi’s hand brushed a ticklish spot along his side. This was how he wanted to remember Oikawa; moaning against Iwaizumi’s neck as they ground against each other, his hair a mess and his eyes bright. 

The last of their clothes slid off, and from there Iwaizumi’s mind went hazy. Everything was a blur of warmth and skin and the scent of sandalwood. Only one thing blazed in Iwaizumi’s mind, and it was the only thought left in his head when Oikawa tipped over the edge above him. 

_I won’t love again like I love him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry  
> have some really cute [iwaoi fluff](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5890318) as an apology


	19. (Your Love) It is My Truth

The morning dawned bright and harsh, sunnier than it had any right to be. Sunlight, too harsh and hot, scorched through the blinds and painted Iwaizumi’s sleeping form in fiery reds and oranges. Oikawa felt his beauty like a stone in his stomach, right beside the knowledge of what they’d done in the small hours of the early morning. His heart was beating like a drum, telling him to get up now, to run, flee, before Iwaizumi had the chance to wake up and break his heart all over again. But his limbs were heavy and he was warm, and despite the panic beginning to dance under his skin, he couldn’t help but feel safe. He hadn’t slept yet, had simply kept a vigil over Iwaizumi the whole night, and yet he felt rested. 

Iwaizumi slept peacefully in front of him, and Oikawa couldn’t help but reach out and lightly trace his fingers -so softly they barely touched skin at all- over Iwaizumi’s cheekbones and jaw. This boy, this _man_ , had been so strong. Had taken so much, from everyone, _for_. Especially Oikawa. It was no wonder he’d broken so spectacularly. With the world on his shoulders, it had only been a matter of time before his spine shattered. 

And as he watched him, Oikawa couldn’t help but feel his heart fracture in sympathy. Iwaizumi shifted in his sleep, curled closer to Oikawa and smiled unconsciously. It was small, intimate, and as quickly as his heart had broken, Oikawa felt it heal again, but somehow warmer and larger than it had been before. 

Suddenly, abruptly, Oikawa was hit with a wave of… not affection. That word wasn’t strong enough. But love wasn’t quite right either. It was more the potential for love, the concept that he _could_ fall in love with this new man, so different from the boy he’d known, but still the same at the core. That Oikawa could love him, could let him in again, even though it’d certainly end in heartache. 

It just might be worth it.

*

Iwaizumi started to stir just minutes before Oikawa’s phone alarm blared to wake them. He woke suddenly, hands flying out to latch onto Oikawa’s arm as if to confirm he was still in the bed. 

“You stayed,” he muttered, his voice rough and hoarse with sleep. He sounded shocked, and that would’ve hurt Oikawa if he hadn’t also sounded so deeply _pleased_. Oikawa smiled a little. 

“You asked me to,” he answered. Iwaizumi’s ears flared red and his cheeks followed a moment later. Oikawa had to quell the urge to press a kiss to one of the bright pink cheeks. “C’mon, let’s get up.” Iwaizumi grumbled under his breath and hissed when Oikawa pushed the blankets down and let in the cool morning air. His nose wrinkled cutely, and Oikawa was left breathless. 

He leaned in close until his lips were right next to Iwaizumi’s ear. “Iwa-chan, it’s time to get up,” he whispered. Oikawa stood and held out a hand to help Iwaizumi out of bed, but Iwaizumi’s eyes had begun to clear, and he seemed less sleepy and more focused now. He ignored Oikawa’s outstretched hand and stood on his own, brushing imaginary lint off his pants so he didn’t have to look Oikawa in the eye. Oikawa pulled back and tried not to let his hurt show on his face. It was right than that Oikawa realized neither of them had gotten redressed in the night, and he had to fight to keep his embarrassment from showing on his face.

A terse, loaded silence fell between them, and Oikawa wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Iwaizumi seemed equally lost in the quiet, but he was the one who finally broke the silence. 

“You can use the guest shower,” he offered, and Oikawa took it as the out he needed, and practically ran to the bathroom. He rushed through the routine, and tried not to think about how he was stealing Iwaizumi’s bodywash and shampoo. The smell of citrus was sharp and overly-sweet in his nose as the steam surrounded him. Overall the shower took maybe ten minutes, and within fifteen, Oikawa was wrapping a towel around his waist and going back to the bedroom to grab yesterday’s clothes. Iwaizumi was still in his room, though he had clearly freshened up as well; his hair was still a little damp, and he’d already gotten into a hideous black suit, complete with tie and dress shoes. Oikawa tried not to get his hopes up about the way Iwaizumi’s eyes traced over his still-damp torso. 

He tugged on the clothes he’d arrived in last night while Iwaizumi frowned in his direction. He decided to ignore it and act as if nothing had happened between them, and finished buckling his belt with finesse even with Iwaizumi boring holes into the back of his head. Once he was dressed, he turned to face Iwaizumi. His face was set firm in the usual blinding smirk, and he hoped it would be enough to get him out of there without argument. 

“I guess I’ll see you at the-” His voice cracked. He couldn’t say it. Iwaizumi’s eyes weren’t angry or full of justified hatred; they were soft, and resigned, and so unbearably sad that Oikawa couldn’t speak. He started to leave, but a sudden pressure around his wrist held him back. 

They both froze, Oikawa with one foot out the door and his head turned to stare at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi with his fingers wrapped gently around Oikawa’s wrist. It was quiet for a moment. 

“Where’s your suit?” Iwaizumi finally asked. His voice was still thick with sleep, but it was warming up slightly. 

Oikawa frowned. “Back at my hotel room,” he answered carefully. 

“Let’s go get it,” Iwaizumi said firmly. Oikawa opened his mouth to argue, but Iwaizumi was already using his grip on Oikawa’s arm to tug him downstairs. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said. No response, just his jacket handed to him and his wrist briefly released so he could put it on. “Iwaizumi,” he tried again. Still nothing, just Iwaizumi waiting patiently while Oikawa tied his shoes. “ _Hajime_ ,” Oikawa finally said. 

Iwaizumi balked, the door half open and his hand clenched on the doorknob.

“Hajime,” Oikawa repeated, less desperately. “What are we doing?” Iwaizumi dropped his wrist like it burned, and Oikawa just let it hang lifelessly at his side. He stared at his shoes, unable to look Iwaizumi in the eye. “What are we doing, Hajime?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi eventually said. “I have no idea what we’re doing.” He drew a shuddering breath. “But I can’t- I _can’t_ do this alone, Tooru. I need you, just for a few more hours.” 

Oikawa wasn’t sure what to do, how to help the man in front of him when he himself felt just as broken. All he could do was nod and let Iwaizumi walk with him as they went to the station and rode the line to Oikawa’s hotel. He let Iwaizumi follow him inside and up to his room, let him sit on the edge of the untouched bed while he opened the cheap closet and pulled out his own suit. It was black, just like Iwaizumi’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Iwaizumi’s suit was boxy and ill-fitting as grief itself, Oikawa’s was sleek and tailored, made more for the few events his job required him to attend than the solemn occasion they were both heading for.

He had a brief moment of self-consciousness as he held the suit in his hands and Iwaizumi made no indication of turning away or moving at all. After a brief second, Oikawa just shook it off. They’d seen it all already, even before the prior night, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. He stripped quickly and pulled the suit on, fiddling with the tie for entirely too long. No matter how many times he wore one, he could never quite get the knot right. 

Warm hands touched his own, brushed them aside, and Iwaizumi’s face was the epitome of concentration as he stared at Oikawa’s tie and deftly twisted it into a proper knot. His hands hovered over Oikawa’s chest for a moment, fiddling awkwardly with the tie until Oikawa brought his own hands up to wrap them around Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi’s head hung low over their hands, to the point where Oikawa could feel his breath, warm and damp, brushing his fingers. Oikawa leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together like they used to when they were young. 

“C’mon,” he finally said, voice low and raw. “We need to get going.” Iwaizumi nodded, and they broke apart. Oikawa tried to pretend he didn’t suddenly feel cold as they stepped out into the spring sunshine and walked towards the station once more.

_Just a few hours more_ , he reminded himself.


	20. Lights Go Down

The funeral dragged on in bright sunlight, and Iwaizumi felt a surge of irritation at the weather for refusing to cooperate. It shouldn’t have been sunny and warm, it deserved to be raining and cold and windy, all the worst that spring could be. It just wasn’t _right_. He tried not to focus on the proceedings themselves, instead he concentrated on standing beside Matsukawa, on being the solid foundation he needed. And when he found himself becoming overwhelmed by the knowledge that one of his best friends was really and truly gone, Oikawa’s hand was right there, resting lightly on his elbow, grounding him and pulling him back from the edge. 

After the service was done, the Hanamaki clan approached to speak with Matsukawa. Hanamaki’s father kept his distance, but Makki’s mother spoke so quietly that Iwaizumi couldn’t hear a word she said, but Matsukawa’s eyes welled up with tears and they hugged for so long that Iwaizumi had to look away for fear of the tears pricking in his own eyes. Hanamaki-san moved on to him, but she didn’t speak, they simply hugged for a moment, and then she stepped away. 

She and Oikawa embraced briefly, and Oikawa murmured what sounded like an apology. Hanamaki-san’s eyes were fierce as she spoke back. 

It all seemed very distant to Iwaizumi. He couldn’t seem to focus on the people speaking around him, not what they were saying or even who they were. Eventually, it grew quiet around him, and Iwaizumi was able to focus. Matsukawa still stood next to him, but Oikawa had left at some point in the aftermath. No surprises there.

“Wanna get a drink?” Iwaizumi offered. He could use the steady burn of alcohol. It would steady him, remind him that now things would go back to some version of normal, now that Oikawa was gone.

But Matsukawa just shook his head and put an end to Iwaizumi’s vague plans. “I need- I need to go home. And sleep. Just… walk with me?” he asked. Iwaizumi couldn’t remember the last time Matsukawa looked so small. The dark suit seemed to swallow him whole, and Iwaizumi wasn’t sure how to help him.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” Iwaizumi agreed, wrapping an arm around Matsukawa’s shoulders and guiding him along winding streets in silence until they reached Mattsun’s apartment. They stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes, Iwaizumi reluctant to let his friend be alone even if it was what he wanted. “Are you gonna be okay?” Iwaizumi asked. 

“Not for a while,” Matsukawa answered. “But… someday, yeah. Probably.” Iwaizumi frowned, and tugged Mattsun into a hug. 

“Call me if you need anything,” Iwaizumi ordered firmly. Matsukawa nodded, and ended the hug. Iwaizumi stood on the sidewalk and watched as he walked into his apartment building, and waited even longer to make sure the lights on his floor clicked on. 

Matsukawa was home safe and getting some sleep, and Iwaizumi ought to head home and do the same. But instead, he decided to wander. He knew he was near Oikawa’s hotel, but didn’t bother to entertain the notion that the man would still be there. He’d certainly left by now, there was no more reason for him to stay in Miyagi. 

Despite his own reasoning, Iwaizumi found himself walking towards the hotel anyway, just to see if he could find something to do in the neighborhood since he clearly wasn’t going home. He let his feet dictate where he went, confident that wherever he ended up, he’d be able to get home fine when he eventually decided to go back. 

A strange itch to just keep walking and walking and never go back was crawling under his skin, prompting him to jump on the next train to Tokyo, to Akita, to Kyoto, anywhere so long as it wasn’t where he was. He wanted to escape, to not go back to the house where every room now reminded him of Oikawa on a fresh level. 

This was so much worse than loving the memory of the boy. Wanting to love the man and still having it not be enough to keep him left Iwaizumi feeling hollow and restless. He wanted to drown himself in a bottle, or drive so fast he couldn’t think, but he didn’t have the money for the former and lacked the license for the latter. So he walked, and kept walking, trying to leave the memory of Oikawa behind with every step.

The afternoon passed quietly, and segued into evening almost without Iwaizumi noticing. By the time he was actually paying attention, it was full night. The stars were visible, but washed out by the city lights. Iwaizumi tried not to feel bitter about it. He kept walking, even as the sidewalks and streets emptied out for the evening. Soon, it was just him and the night wind keeping pace along the sidewalk. 

He approached the corner across his house -somehow he’d circled back around- and caught sight of a familiar form silhouetted in the street lamp’s artificial glow. His breath snagged in his throat, harsh and wheezing, and he felt his knees start to shake. He steadfastly refused to believe his eyes. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, showing him what he wanted to see. He needed to go home, drink some water, and go to bed. 

In direct rebellion of what he wanted to do, Iwaizumi crossed the street early. He approached his house carefully, trying to ignore the figure under the streetlight that he was certain was waiting for him. 

“Hajime,” a voice called. It wasn’t strong, or loud, but it carried across the street still, and Iwaizumi paused at his gate and looked back. 

There was no denying it, it was Oikawa. Iwaizumi waited while Oikawa crossed the street and approached him. 

His eyes were rimmed red and his nose was scarlet, the clear-cut evidence that he’d been crying most of the day. Iwaizumi almost wanted to joke about it, to say something that would dispel the tension between them. But he kept silent. 

“Hajime,” Oikawa said again. The way he said Iwaizumi’s name, it both broke his heart and made him whole. He wanted to cry and laugh, and couldn’t decide whether he loved the sound of it in Oikawa’s mouth, or hated the way it rolled so smoothly off his tongue like it belonged there. “Can we talk?”

Iwaizumi nodded. He knew they needed to, he just didn’t want to have the conversation. He didn’t want to have to play like they could go back to being perfect strangers again, and he didn’t want to let Oikawa into his house to do it, because he was certain if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from begging Oikawa to just _stay_.

So he took Oikawa’s hand in his and began to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what japanese funerals are like so just kinda roll with it I guess


	21. Don't Pretend (That You Don't Want Me)

Iwaizumi’s hand was large and warm around Oikawa’s as they walked. The evening had gotten cool, but neither of them said a word about stopping. Oikawa just wanted to keep walking forever, hand in hand with Iwaizumi, even if the heavy silence between them never lifted. He knew if he just put aside his pride and fears for a moment, they could have an actual conversation, and maybe, just maybe, they could be okay. He didn’t hold out hope for Iwaizumi to love him, that was too much to ask, but he could hope for them to become friends again. That was reasonable. 

He’d tried to pack his things and leave after he’d left the service, but he couldn’t get Iwaizumi’s face out of his head. All he could think of was how lost the man he’d once known so well was, and how adrift Oikawa himself was. How much better he felt when he was with Iwaizumi, how things felt centered and right, more than they ever had in the interim years. And how badly he wanted them to be _something_ again, no matter what that something was. 

But for that to happen, he was going to have to actually _speak_ , and that was proving harder than he’d anticipated. 

The silence stretched between them as they walked, and Oikawa tried to convince himself to speak. The breath he took was shaky at best, but it would have to do.

He tugged them to a stop near an apartment complex, the same one Oikawa had passed when he’d first come back to Miyagi. The one that stood on the site of the playground where he and Iwaizumi had once practiced volleyball. He took another shaking breath, and pushed the words out of his mouth. 

“I’m sorry I left,” he admitted, and the words burned like acid on the way out. They were too honest, too raw, and Oikawa didn’t know how to be like that anymore, not even with Iwaizumi. Or maybe _especially_ with Iwaizumi. “I’m sorry I never read any of your letters. I’m sorry I was so petty and prideful that I let one fight destroy us. I’m sorry it took this to bring me back. And I’m sorry, because I’m going to leave again, and I want to leave right this time.”

Oikawa glanced over in a panic when Iwaizumi didn’t make a single sound of acknowledgement. Iwaizumi’s face was frozen, locked in a blank expression, but his eyes were bright with something Oikawa couldn’t identify. The hand around Oikawa’s was gripping him tight, holding him in place while Iwaizumi worked through Oikawa’s words and thought of his own. 

“I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you share that with me,” Iwaizumi said. “I know I made you feel like you didn’t belong here, and I’m sorry for that.” Oikawa was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to laugh, and before he could decide, Iwaizumi spoke again. “And I’m sorry if what I’m about to say upsets you, or makes you angry, or hurts you.”

On pure instinct, Oikawa took a step back and pulled his hand from Iwaizumi’s grip. “What do you mean?” he asked, making his voice cool and distant. He didn’t want Iwaizumi to say anything that would ruin what they’d only just started to fix. 

Iwaizumi took a single step closer, and locked his eyes on Oikawa’s. There was a fire burning there, something intense and terrifying in its purity. “I’m sorry, because I loved you then, and I treated you terribly, and then hated you for not coming back. I’m sorry, because I want to love you now, and I don’t want you to go. I want you stay, and let me learn you, let me learn how to love you the right way, and I know that it’s selfish. I’m not going to ask you stay with me when I know Tokyo is where you belong. But gods, I want to, and I’m sorry for that,” Iwaizumi said. He didn’t look away once, followed Oikawa’s every glance and held his gaze. They weren’t touching, but Oikawa could feel electricity and potential energy fluttering between them. 

“I- I don’t know- I can’t-” Oikawa started to stammer, but when Iwaizumi’s face didn’t fall, didn’t break, just looked accepting of Oikawa’s refusal, he couldn’t keep up the lie. “I loved you too, once,” he admitted. The honesty still burned, but now it was a steady, almost pleasant feeling. Like a glass of whiskey after a long day. “I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry for that. And I want to love you, I want you to love me, I want us to learn about each other and spend time together and become what we could be.” He paused, and debated for a moment if he should finish his thought. “I want you to ask me stay. I want you to ask me to come home. I don’t even know if I can, but I want you to ask.”

Something seemed to break in Iwaizumi, and a moment later saw them pressed together on the sidewalk, not kissing, just sharing breath and arms wrapped tight around each other. Something wet was splashing against Oikawa’s neck, and he belatedly realized that Iwaizumi was _crying_. That proved to be the last straw, and Oikawa felt his own tears start. It wasn’t that he was sad, per se. It was just so _much_. Iwaizumi tugged him impossibly closer, pressed their chests together until Oikawa couldn’t tell their heartbeats apart. 

He could feel Iwaizumi’s lips moving soundlessly against his neck, but Oikawa couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say. He shifted slightly and moved so he and Iwaizumi could lock eyes. “What do you want from me, Hajime?” he asked quietly. His throat felt raw, from the tears and the honesty.

The other man paused. “I want you to come home with me tonight,” he finally said. “Past that, I can’t say.” Oikawa nodded. 

“I can do that,” he said. Iwaizumi gave a watery smile that Oikawa mirrored. They broke the hug, but stayed close together as they started back down the street. Their hands tangled as they walked, and Oikawa tried not to blush when Iwaizumi’s thumb started absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand. 

Iwaizumi was watching him closely, Oikawa could feel it. “What?” he finally asked. 

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi said, shrugging. “It’s just… you’re still an ugly crier.”

Oikawa squawked and swatted at Iwaizumi’s shoulder with his free hand. “You’re not any better, you know,” he replied. Iwaizumi just gave a small smile, and they continued walking hand in hand with tears fresh on their face as the night drew close around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now comes the real question kids  
> do i end this here  
> or do i write a sequel

**Author's Note:**

> Come freak out over iwaoi with me on my [tumblr](http://likeatreebesidetheriver.tumblr.com)


End file.
